


your voice is my favorite color

by princessofmind



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bullying, Canon Divergence, Chromesthesia, Depression, Gen, Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofmind/pseuds/princessofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima Kei didn't think there was anything special about the colors.  He thought everyone could see them, and that it was fine.  But then he found out that everybody didn't, and everything wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he was little, Kei thought everyone was like him.

Sitting in front of the television, it felt like there was a kaleidoscope of color in front of his eyes, shifting and twirling and inverting, distracting and more fascinating than whatever could possibly be going on in the program.

His mother spoke in soft pinks and roses, fuzzy along the edges like cotton candy and with the hues that made him think of warm blankets. His father was all crisp clearness, a deep, oceanic blue that felt like the shock of stepping into the freezing ocean.

And Akiteru, Akiteru was his _favorite_. His voice was like sunshine and clementines, sweet and tangy and filling him up with warmth, a golden yellow shot through with bronze and brown that felt like elation, like arms that held him and laughter that always made him feel like he could fly.

The first time he noticed that maybe, maybe he was different, was when he met his paternal grandfather for the first time. He was a strict mind, his voice like steel, sharp grey with jagged edges that made him quiver where he stood, tugging on his fingers and closing his eyes, although all it did was throw the colors into even sharper relief.

Later, when the children had been excused to play in the courtyard, he turned to his brother and said, “I don’t like grandpa’s color”.

Akiteru was digging through the supply shed, supposedly in search of something they could occupy themselves with, but he stopped at Kei’s words, eyebrows drawn down in a frown. “What do you mean? Like, you don’t like his shirt?”

“No, his _color_ ,” he said, emphasizing the word like that was all it would take, but all he received was a blank look. “When he talks. His voice color.”

His brother blinked slowly, studying him like he was really looking at him for the first time. “Are we playing a game?” he asked, and even though his voice wasn’t condescending, Kei could feel his cheeks burning.

“No, I’m not playing!” he said insistently. “Everyone sees it, right? The colors, when people talk. Grandpa’s are scary, and I don’t want to talk to him again.”

Akiteru put his hand on top of his head, ruffling his hair and smiling. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s okay now, though. We don’t have to go back inside any time soon. Let’s see if we can find that volleyball he said was in here.”

Suitably placated by the mention of volleyball, Kei let the conversation slide away, completely forgetting his brother’s reaction until later, when they’d gone back home, and he could hear Akiteru talking to their parents when Kei was supposed to be down for his nap.

“Is there something wrong with him?” The cotton candy of his mother’s voice felt damp, weighed down by the tears he could hear her holding back. “That’s...that’s not normal, is it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Akiteru insisted, voice rising, and he was immediately shushed.

“It doesn’t seem to be bothering him much,” his father observed, voice just as pure blue as always. “Kei is still a smart boy, and I think if these...colors were hurting him, we’d know. He’s just even more special than we thought.”

His mother exhaled a shuddery sigh. “I still want to take him to see a specialist, just in case.”

Out in the hallway, Kei’s chest felt tight, his already fuzzy vision blurring further with tears, because this...this thing about him, wasn’t normal. Was making his mother cry, and his father speak in soft, placating tones. All his life, he’d loved the colors, loved having something so pretty to associate with the people he loved.

But it was bad. He needed to see a...a specialist, whatever that meant, and he probably should never have told Akiteru.

The door slid open, and his brother visibly startled at the sight of him sitting against the far wall, chewing on his lip with his cheeks damp and his hands clasped over his ears. Akiteru sat down next to him, drawing him into his arms and stroking his hair while he cried.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he reassured, and with his hands over his ears, the colors were muffled, almost like someone had put a glassy film over them and was distorting them, muting them. “I promise, Kei. I _promise_.”

It turns out that a specialist was a fancy name for a doctor, and his mother twisted a tissue between her pale fingers as they sat in a waiting room that was far too serious for his liking. There were no toys, no books, just chairs and tired looking people. They sat in there for what felt like forever, and even though he was bored, Kei was too nervous to ask his mother for something to do.

When they were called back, it was just like going to see any other doctor at first. They took his temperature, wrapped the weird cuff around his arm and inflated it, and measured his height or weight. The room they put them in had lots of pictures of brains in it, with different areas highlighted or shaded different colors.

He wanted to cry again. Were they going to cut his head open? Were his colors that bad?

The woman who came into the room was older than his mother, with a kind voice that was colored like blossoms in the spring, lavender and pale yellow and pastel pink. It made him like her immediately, and she didn’t say anything about cutting his head open.

Instead, she asked him about his colors.

“How long have you been seeing them?”

“Always.”

“What kind of noises make you see the colors?”

“Talking. People talking.”

She keeps writing things down on her clipboard. “Is it something you see in front of you, like you can see me and your mother, or is it something you see inside your mind, like your imagination?”

“Um. In front of me. But I can still see everyone else. It’s, um...see through?”

The doctor seems pleased with his description, and she turns in her chair to the box she carried in with her and produces a pad of paper and a box of crayons. “Kei, would you feel comfortable drawing for me?”

His tongue feels like it’s glued to the roof of his mouth, and he turns his panicked gaze to his mother. She gives him a reassuring smile, but he still makes no move to go forward and take the items from the doctor.

“I just want to see what it looks like to you,” she says, her smile soft and patient. “I can’t see the colors, so I’m really, really curious to see how pretty the world is to you. You can draw your mother’s voice first, if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

It does. Her voice is the one he sees the most, that he loves the most, so he finally gets up from his chair and shuffles forward, putting the paper on the floor and plunking down with the crayons. “These aren’t right,” he says after he opens them, a frown creasing his forehead.

Something about that makes both of them laugh, but their colors are still bright, not ashy or dark with displeasure, so at least they aren’t laughing _at_ him.

“Just do your best,” his mother encourages, so he does. There are pinks and reds and whites, and even if it’s hard to do with crayons, he tries to make it as fluffy as possible, with just a little red at the corners and bright, sweeping arches of white cutting through the pink. He can feel their eyes on him, and it makes his shoulders tense, but he still fills the paper with cotton candy as best he can.

When he’s finished, he hands the paper to his mother first, lips pressed in a tight, nervous line and his ears hot. Her eyes are misty as she takes it from him, but there’s something like awe in her gaze as she looks at the colors sweeping over the page, bleeding off the edge of the paper and disappearing into nothing.

“Is this really what it looks like when I talk to you?” she asks, and he just nods in answer. “It’s...it’s beautiful, Kei.”

The doctor looks incredibly pleased, but a bit regretful when she takes the picture from his mother and attaches it to his clipboard. “He’s perfectly fine,” she says after another long moment of writing on her papers. “What he has is a form of synesthesia, which is when the experience of one sense triggers a matching experience in a second sense. For Kei, voices cause him to see different colors, which is called chromesthesia.”

The words are big, far too big to mean anything to him, but they make his fingers tingle and his chest feel warm. There are words for him, special words, for him and his colors.

“It’s completely harmless,” the doctor continues. “It’s possible that he may have some issues with over-stimulation when he starts school, but he’ll adjust. I want to keep an eye on him, though, if he starts getting headaches, and you’ll want to get his eyes checked, since his form of chromesthesia might be causing some mild eye strain...”

He tunes them out, letting the colors flicker in front of his eyes and their voices fade to nothing but noise. It’s harmless. He’s okay. He has _chromesthesia_.

Later, at home, he sits on the floor of Akiteru’s room, lip between his teeth and surrounded by almost a hundred different crayons. Even still, he can’t find his brother’s shade of yellow, so like in the doctor’s office, he just does the best he can.

“It’s called chrometesus,” he says, tongue fumbling over the too-long word that he can’t completely remember. “The doctor says it’s not hurting me.”

“I knew you were just special,” Akiteru says proudly from his place on the bed, his eyes bright and his color sparkling like fizzing bubbles with excitement. “This is so _cool_.”

Smudging gold into the bright yellow, Kei feels like it’s as good as it’s going to get, and he hands the paper to his brother, who positively lights up.

“Kei, that’s awesome!” he crows, holding the paper up, lips stretched in a wide smile. “I’m...my voice is so bright! Like the sun or something!”

 _Oh_.

Kei finds himself returning the giddy smile, his fingers dirty and smudged with crayon. “Yeah. Yeah, just like the sun.”

That summer, they were even more inseparable than normal. Akiteru buys him a sketchbook and some special colored pencils that blend really nicely, letting him do a better job of creating the colors he needs. They sit at the park and listen, and Kei draws swirls of purple and jagged oranges and bright pulses of green. On the fridge, there are three pictures, one for everyone in his family done with his new pencils, and the first picture he did for Akiteru in crayon is proudly hung over his bed.

And Kei feels like magic, like he’s _special_.

But then he starts elementary school.

And it’s _loud_ , cluttered with too many voices and too many colors. His new glasses make it easier to see through the swirl, but it’s still there, making him feel nauseous and out of touch. On the first day, he spends lunch in the bathroom, his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It’s just so _much_ , and when he doesn’t answer the teacher’s questions because he can’t decipher them, it just makes them angry.

Everything is jumbled and awful and he cries when his mother picks him up, saying he never wants to go back.

She walks him home, her hand tight around his, valiantly ignoring how he flinches and clutches her tighter every time someone walks by them, laughing loudly or talking on their phone. When they get home, she takes him straight upstairs, wrapping him up tight in his favorite blanket and rocking him in her lap, his head tucked under her chin and the house utterly, completely silent.

Something about the blanket helps, makes him feel like there’s less to try and focus on, and the quiet is so nice he almost falls asleep, the shaking gradually leaving his limbs as he relaxes, sagging against her as she wipes the tears from his face.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says, speaking so softly that the cotton candy is a distant color, just barely a pink filter behind his eyelids. “You’re so smart, Kei, and we’re going to figure this out.”

His parents have a conversation in the kitchen when his dad comes home, and Akiteru distracts him by playing Monster Hunter with the volume turned off. Eventually, they come out, his father flipping his phone closed and both of them smiling like nothing is wrong.

The next day is just as bad, but his parents show up half-way through the day, making him elated and eager to wash out the disgusting swirl of colors with their crisp blues and soft pinks. But they’re here to talk to his teacher, not him, and recess goes extra-long that day because whatever it is they’re discussing takes a long time. At the end, he gets called in, and even though his teacher’s expression is pinched and confused, she’s clearly been persuaded by whatever his serious father and determined mother had to say.

“You’re going to start eating your lunch in the staff room,” she says. “And even though I can’t let you leave class, if you start...” she fumbles, unsure of what word to say, “uh, if you need a break during recess, you can come inside and lay down. Just come straight to me, okay?”

Kei nods, and something about being treated different from his classmates makes him feel less special and more like a nuisance, but he’s just so happy to get away from the noise that he doesn’t linger on it.

After that, things get better. With the opportunity to clear his head several times during the day, he starts to learn how to separate all the colors, let them flicker from one to another when his classmates are having discussions, and how to seek out particular colors so he can better pay attention in class. His teacher’s voice is a muddy violet, like a flower that got knocked from it’s stem into the dirt during a rainstorm, so it’s harder to find than something more vibrant. But his mother was right; he’s smart, and he learns.

He stops skipping lunch and eats with the rest of the kids, blinking through the rainbows and kaleidoscopes and colors that flicker by so fast they’re almost nothing but a blur. It’s nicer, he finds, to let them flicker like that than to let them layer up, because then it gets hard to see, his head hurts, and he can’t pay attention. The flicker is annoying, like a film that keeps skipping, but by the end of his first year, he’s gotten used to it.

Things at home keep getting better, too. Akiteru takes it upon himself to start teaching Kei volleyball officially, something he’d been nagging him to do for as long as he’s been old enough to toddle after him, a volleyball clutched in his chubby fingers as he calls “K’iteru, K’iteru, ball! Ball!”. The focus is great for him, and his brother is the captain of his middle school team, so who better to teach him?

His parents, too, accept the changes that school has brought with surprising grace. One day when he gets home, he sees a whiteboard on the wall next to the door, three large, colored magnets on the bottom and _Kei Feels_ scrawled across the top in his mother’s perfect scrawl. There’s a box drawn underneath the words, and he has no clue what it means until they all sit down for a family meeting after supper.

“I talked to Dr. Inoue today, and she gave me a great idea. We all know that school is tough on Kei sometimes, but he has trouble telling us about it.”

Kei scowls, cheeks hot and his stomach an unhappy knot, but it’s true. Even after that first day when his mother brought him home, he’s had trouble telling his family when it’s too loud, when school was especially tough due to group activities or a fight at lunch.

“So the board by the door is going to be our cheat sheet,” she says, smiling at Kei. “The magnets are like a stop light. If the green magnet is in the box, that means Kei had a good day, and we don’t have to worry about him. We can talk like normal. The yellow magnet means we need to keep our voices down, and give Kei space, but we can still talk to him and eat dinner together. The red magnet is the most serious, because it’s the “stop” magnet. That means Kei had a very bad day, and we need to not talk to him and let him have quiet time in his room and eat his dinner there.”

His father is looking at her in a way that makes him remember fairy tales, and the way the prince and the princess always fall in love at the end. He doesn’t think his parents ever stopped the falling in love part. “That’s a really smart idea,” he says, lips curling into a small smile, and his mother beams at him.

“I have a question!” Akiteru says, raising his hand. “What about volleyball?”

“That’s up to Kei,” his mother says, and three pairs of eyes fall to him.

“Um,” he says, pulling at his fingers. “I...I think it’s okay on green and yellow, but not red.” It feels like he always wants to play, but if he’s having a “red” day, his head hurts too bad and he misses the ball a lot, which just makes him upset and frustrated.

“Perfect!” his mother exclaims, leaning down to ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead. “So the new house rule is that you have to check the Kei chart whenever you come in the door, because he’s allowed to change it whenever he wants.”

And even though it takes some getting used to, he soon learns to love the magnets and his chart. Now that the rules have been set, he feels...more secure, like he isn’t going to get in trouble for needing that time to himself. Most days are green or yellow, and as his first year continues on, the red days get fewer and far between.

And on the first day of his second year, he makes a friend.

Satoshi is loud and colored red like fire, crackling with blues and whites like his teacher says fire gets when it’s really, really hot. Kei likes that his colors are so vibrant that they eclipse everything else, and when they sit next to each other in class, he can see the teacher’s muddy violet through the flames, throwing it into an almost shadowy relief that he can focus on more easily.

They play after school sometimes, running through the park and playing with sticks like swords, climbing trees and scraping their knees, and Kei can’t remember the last time he had so much fun with someone who wasn’t his brother.

He takes out the nice, rough paper and his special pencils for the first time since that summer before he started school, working until his glasses are smudged and his mother laughingly cleans red lines off his cheeks from where he rested his head on his hand while he worked. She gives him a folder from his father’s office to carry it to school in, and he’s never been so excited to get to school.

Throwing his backpack in his seat, he rummages around until he finds the cool plastic of the folder, shifting from foot to foot as he waits for Satoshi to come running in, the cowlick in his hair as stubborn as ever and his eyes bright.

“Kei! Good morning!” he says happily, moving to his own desk and extending his hand for a high-five, their customary greeting. “What’s that?”

Kei hands over the file folder, his expression equal parts excited and nervous. “I made something for you.”

Satoshi pulls out the picture, blinking at the bright red and smears of white and blue, dancing across the page. “What is it?”

“That’s your voice,” he says, proud and practically quivering with the fact that he’s sharing this with someone, someone who he knows will find it just as cool as Akiteru did the first time he drew his colors. “I have chro-mo-the-sia,” (he has to take extra care to pronounce the word correctly) “which means that when people talk, I see colors. Everyone has a special color, and this is yours.”

He was expecting excitement, he was expecting a barrage of questions from his curious friend, but instead, all he gets is a blank look, Satoshi’s hands slowly lowering so he’s no longer looking at the paper.

“You see colors when people talk?”

Kei nods, and he’s still smiling, even though he can feel it starting to wilt.

“That’s...”

Something in Satoshi’s expression twists, and Kei’s lungs are suddenly so tight he can’t breath, his stomach lurching in a way that makes him taste bile in the back of his throat.

“...weird.”

When he gets home, he throws the red magnet so hard against the white board that it breaks, and he sobs in the empty house to the memory of a flame-covered piece of paper lying crumpled in the trashcan of their classroom.

After that, things are different.

His classmates whisper about him when they think he isn’t listening, and Satoshi doesn’t talk to him anymore. He switches seats with one of the girls, and pointedly looks away from him, mouth in a hard line and his shoulders tense. They think he’s weird, they think he’s making it up for attention or...or something, but they all stop talking to him, and the absence of their voices after so long is so bizarre that he struggles to re-adjust.

At home, he uses the red magnet (taped back together by his mother when she got home from the store and found it laying in the entryway) every day, hiding in his room and avoiding his family. There’s nothing special about him, nothing _cool_. He’s just the weird kid who sees colors, and no one wants to be his friend.

Akiteru still stubbornly makes him practice, ignoring the rules and the red magnet to bring him outside sometimes, tossing the ball to him for Kei to practice his recieves and his blocks. They don’t talk, but being together is like a balm to his heart, and Akiteru lets him spend time in his room too, usually just curled up on the bed reading but sometimes playing games together. It’s nice, and even though his parents clearly have no idea what to do about it, they try their best too.

And even though he was convinced that the hurt would never go away, that he’d never be able to watch Satoshi leave with the other kids and leave him behind, it eventually dulls. Akiteru gives him a pair of headphones and his old MP3 player, loading it up with classical music that doesn’t trigger his colors and lets him hide from the whispers, lets him act aloof, like the plastic covering his ears is armor and he’s much more interested in what he’s listening to than anyone else.

His brother is the only friend he needs, anyways. If his classmates aren’t going to make an effort to understand his colors, then he isn’t going to make an effort to get to know any of them either. He gets a reputation as not just the weird color kid, but as the kid with the headphones, the one who doesn’t talk to anyone else unless he’s sneering something mean and cutting. Kei never actively goes after anyone, but if he thinks anyone is getting too close, he cuts them down.

It stays the same as the school years progress. He’s smart, and his teachers are always happy to report back to his parents how intelligent he is, but they also mention that he’s distant, and makes no effort to befriend his classmates. They say he works poorly with others, and has a bit of a mean streak.

His mother sits ramrod straight, her eyes cold, and he hates the gray that has started spreading through her cotton candy like a disease. “But is he causing any problems?”

The teachers always hesitate, looking at the sullen boy sitting next to his mother with his arms crossed and his headphones slung around his neck, and sigh. “No.”

When they leave, she hugs him tight, and sometimes she cries and sometimes she doesn’t, but he never pushes her away. Instead, he pretends that he’s five again, when the colors were wonderful and all he wanted to do was share them with people, and curls into her until his glasses press uncomfortably against his face and he has to move.

The winter of his third year of elementary school, he meets Yamaguchi Tadashi.

It’s autumn, starting to edge into winter, and Kei just wants to get to school as quickly as possible. This time of year, it seems like he’s always too cold no matter how many layers he puts on, so the sooner he can get into the school building, the better.

But just outside the school gate, he sees three boys by one of the trees, one of them with their back against the bark and the other two standing in front of him.

“Why are your clothes so old?” The voice is deceptively bright, a kind of pink that makes him think of candy that’s so sweet that you gag on it. “They look funny.”

“And they’re dirty, too.” This voice matches the words, at least; a gross, muddy brown shot through with pea green and underlaid with black, like a swamp. “Even your face is dirty. Why are you so _dirty_ , Yamaguchi?”

The third boy looks like he would sink further back into the tree if he could. “I-I’m not-”

Even though he only manages a couple stuttering words, it’s enough. His colors are beautiful, a soft green that makes him think of moss, underlaid with a warm brown like sunshine in the forest, casting a dappled pattern like light through the leaves. He can almost taste the green, smell the lushness of rain and soil, and he starts walking before he can stop himself.

“You’ve got dirt all over your face,” the pink voice says, reaching out to rub his hand hard against the forest voice’s (Yamaguchi, he reminds himself) cheek and across his nose.

The whole scene rankles, and he stands up as straight as he can when he approaches, hands in his pockets and his eyes narrowed. Three sets of eyes snap to him, and even though he hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet (Akiteru says he hopes he shoots up like a weed), he’s still tall enough to look down on them.

“Pathetic,” he sneers, jerking his head towards the gate in an obvious indication that they should get lost. And clearly, his reputation as weird and _mean_ precedes him, because they glower and mumble unhappy little bursts of color under their breath, but they move on.

Kei turns to Yamaguchi, and his cheek is red from the rough handling of the pink voiced boy and his eyes are damp, but then the boy manages to pull a smile from somewhere inside him, and it’s the first time one of his classmates has smiled at him in years.

“Thanks,” he says, voice soft, but it’s still enough to paint that green across his vision, lighter but still just as wonderful as that first glimpse he caught. As the irritated red begins to fade from his cheek, Kei notices that it wasn’t dirt on his face, but rather freckles, a generous spray of them across his nose and cheekbones. “I’m...I’m sorry to trouble you.”

The words sound rehearsed, like they’re something Yamaguchi has to say a lot, and Kei just shrugs in response. “I don’t like bullies.”

Kei doesn’t consider himself a bully. He’s mean to pretty much everyone, and only when they deserve it. He’d never seek someone out and do what those two were doing, which was being purposely cruel.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Yamaguchi continues. “I-I just moved here, so I’m still learning who everyone is.”

“I’m Tsukishima Kei, from class three,” he said, looking at his feet and the dirt on his sneakers.

“Yamaguchi Tadashi, class one,” the other boy answers, that smile still on his face. “I guess that explains why we’ve never met, huh?”

“Yeah.”

The awkward, one word answers don’t seem to bother the other boy, and he follows happily when Kei heads in the direction of the gate; the warning bell just rung, so they need to hurry. Changing from their outdoor shoes to their indoor shoes, they head down the main hallway until it’s time for them to part ways.

“Thanks again, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi says, and Kei likes the way the sharp syllables look shaded against the moss green of his voice, so he doesn’t bother to correct him. Just nods and goes to his classroom, actively having to bite down a smile.

Yamaguchi latches onto him immediately, waiting at the school gate for him every morning and afternoon so they can walk together. He does most of the talking, but Kei is okay with that. Even though they’re soft, Yamaguchi’s colors are easy to focus on, like laying down in a clearing in the middle of the forest and just letting the calm wash over you. It’s nice to have something so effortless to filter everything out with, and part of him wishes Yamaguchi was in his class.

He learns that Yamaguchi moved to Miyagi from Tokyo with his mother, and that he’s never met his father and his mother works three jobs and is never home. All his clothes are second-hand, given to them by the neighbors in their apartment complex or by people at his mother’s jobs. They moved around a lot, but his mother seems happy here, even though he never sees her. Yamaguchi likes action figures and anime, and most importantly, volleyball.

He also made the mistake of telling Kei that he mostly lived off of instant noodles and dinner bentos from the corner store their apartment is above (since his mother was never home to cook), and he just couldn’t let that stand.

“I don’t want to impose,” Yamaguchi sputtered, following Kei as they turned down the street that lead towards the blond’s house, not his friend’s apartment.

“I told you already, it’s fine,” Kei insisted, scowling at the other boy. “Stop whining.”

Yamaguchi sighed, giving him a resigned smile. “Sorry, Tsukki.”

All his life, Kei hadn’t thought his house was that impressive, but Yamaguchi looks up at it like he’s entering a palace and not a house, and that makes him wonder. His dad is a lawyer, a very well known one, and they’d always had money for clothes and toys and special treats. Their house was two stories, with extra rooms for his father’s office and his mother’s sewing room in addition to their bedrooms, and maybe that was more than what most people had.

Toeing their shoes off in the entryway, Kei immediately wants to go find his mother, but is stopped by a curious question from Yamaguchi. “What’s that?”

His gaze snaps to the “Kei Feels” chart and the three little magnets and his blood runs cold. Oh _god_. He’d been so focused on getting Yamaguchi to his house that he’d completely forgotten about the chart, about the pictures that still adorned their fridge, and he wanted to curl up and die.

“It-It’s nothing,” he says, and it’s probably the first time he’s ever been anything less than cool, calm, and collected around Yamaguchi, which would explain why the other was looking at him so intently. “Just something from when I was little that mom hasn’t taken down yet.”

Yamaguchi looks like it’s literally going to kill him not to know, but he just nods, whispering “pardon the intrusion” before following Kei into the kitchen where his mom is sitting at the table, flipping through a magazine.

“Mom,” he says, and she practically jumps out of her skin when she sees a second boy standing in the kitchen instead of just one. “This is Yamaguchi Tadashi, from school. He’s eating dinner with us tonight.”

She just stares at them, her hands frozen in the act of turning the page of her magazine as her eyes dart back and forth between her son, looking stubborn and maybe a touch nervous, to the fretful looking boy standing next to him, right at his elbow like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Of course,” she says, and her colors blossom, going from ashy grey-pink to a bright bubblegum color that almost makes Kei start to cry, because it’s been so long since he’s seen it that he’d almost forgotten that her colors could be this bright and beautiful. “Of course Yamaguchi can stay. I was going to make pork curry; it’s Kei’s favorite.”

“I like pork curry,” Yamaguchi says shyly, and Kei can practically see his mother melt. She misses her sweet boy, he knows, and it makes a small, unknown part of him glad that Yamaguchi can fill that gap he left.

“Why don’t you two go play in your room? I’ll bring up some snacks in a little bit.”

It’s probably good that Akiteru has friends over more often than he does, because she’s being more normal about it than he expected. He just nods, and Yamaguchi gives her a polite bow before following him up the stairs to his room. It’s kind of messy, with stacks of CDs littering his desk and his shelves cluttered with dinosaur figures from his trips to the museum with Akiteru that summer.

“Your room is so big!” Yamaguchi says, walking around and taking it all in, picking up a few of the dinosaurs and smiling. “I didn’t know you liked dinosaurs, Tsukki!”

Kei looks away, picking up his volleyball just to have something to do with his hands. “They’re okay, I guess,” he mutters. “Our house got renovated this summer, so Akiteru took me to the museum a lot so we could get out of the house. One of dad’s clients gave him season passes as a gift, so it was free.”

Yamaguchi sits the figure down, his smile soft and sweet. “It sounds like you really like your brother,” he said, almost wistfully. “Which dinosaur is your favorite?”

That’s a _very_ serious question. Kei considers it, tossing his ball to Yamaguchi to approach the shelves himself, studying the figurines intently before picking up a small one. “I like compsognathus,” he says eventually, handing the figure to Yamaguchi. “They’re really small, but they’re also carnivorous. They hunt in packs, and together, they can take out dinosaurs way bigger than them.”

“Comp-so-ganthus,” Yamaguchi says, stumbling, and ultimately getting it wrong. “Um. Compy?”

“Why do you have to shorten everything?” Kei grumbles, but it’s cute.

“How small were they?”

“Uh, like, dog sized?”

Yamaguchi looks thrilled with this answer. “And they’re still really good hunters? That’s so cool!”

Kei is looking at the ground again, but there’s something...something like hope unfurling in his chest. “You could come with us sometime, if you wanted. Technically dad got four passes, Akiteru and I have just been using two, so it. It wouldn’t be a hassle.”

The look on Yamaguchi’s face is priceless, even if it is a bit silly due to the fact that he’s holding the compy figure in one hand and the volleyball under his arm.

“That would be _awesome_.”

And Kei chances a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a sort of warning, I don't have synesthesia myself, and all of Kei's experiences are based on research and personal speculation and interpretation. I love reading into the reason why he wears headphones all the time unless he's practicing, and this is my interpretation of that. Additional tags and characters will be added as the story progresses.
> 
> http://princessofmind.tumblr.com/


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment to say I'm absolutely stunned by the outpouring of interest and support for this story. I'm so, so thankful and grateful to you all, and hope that you continue to enjoy as I update.

“Yamaguchi, you need to bend your knees a little more! You can’t move fast enough if you’re all stiff like that.”

“Okay!”

Kei is sitting under the single tree in the backyard, drinking from his water bottle as he watches Akiteru and Yamaguchi work on returns, just passing the ball back and forth between the two of them. It’s hot outside, with a little heaviness in the air that hints at the coming humidity of summer, and it’s starting to look like it’s going to be an unseasonably hot one.

Fiddling with the lid of the bottle, Kei is relieved that he no longer feels the tightness in his chest that was there at first when he saw his brother teaching his friend. Yamaguchi had been thrilled to find out that Akiteru was captain of his middle school team, and jabbered on about how much he wanted to learn and asked questions so frequently when he would stay for dinner that Akiteru eventually laughed and asked if he wanted to join his lessons with Kei.

And that would _not_ stand. Akiteru was busy with entrance exams and practice, so Kei didn’t get to see him very often; those practices were sacred. No matter how much he liked Yamaguchi, this was something special between him and his brother, something they’d been doing for years and it was just fine with the two of them, there was no reason to get someone else involved. But the way Yamaguchi lit up at the suggestion, practically quivering with excitement, made Kei feel like he couldn’t protest.

“Don’t be a brat, Kei,” Akiteru had said when he confronted him about it later. “Yamaguchi wants to learn, and he’s your friend. What’s wrong with having him join us?”

Kei stared hard at the floor and his socked feet, because it...it kind of stung, to be called a brat. Maybe Akiteru didn’t value their time alone as much as he did. “Why does it have to be you?” he mumbled, voice rough with unhappiness. “Someone else can teach him.”

Akiteru sighed, turning away from his textbook and resting his hand on Kei’s head, ruffling his hair fondly. “Because he’s your friend,” he said, smiling widely when Kei finally met his eyes. “I’m not going to let anyone else teach him, because my little brother should have the very best partner he can.”

Partner. He thought about how comfortable he was with Yamaguchi at his side, how much reassurance he took in the moss green of his words, and if they were going to play volleyball together, wouldn’t it be good if they both played to the best of their abilities?

So even if he wasn’t totally sold on the idea, he knew he wouldn’t be able to change his brother’s mind even if he wanted to. It made him feel so jealous he couldn’t see straight when Akiteru would send Kei off to cool down and get some water while he worked exclusively with Yamaguchi (even though they would trade places immediately afterwards).

But...it was also kind of soothing, to sit and watch them talk to each other. Yamaguchi is much more verbal than Kei, and he and Akiteru seem to always be talking about something or another while they work on receives or spikes. It lets him watch the slow ebb and flow of clementine and leaves, sometimes overlapping to look like sunshine peeking through the branches and basking the meadow below in its rays.

The picture it painted was beautiful, and he was guilty of leaning back against the tree, letting his eyes slip closed so all he could see was the colors, to the point where he could almost taste them on the back of his tongue, until Yamaguchi laughingly crowed at him to stop sleeping and get back to work.

Today was one of those days, and he startled to suddenly have attention back on him. Opening his eyes, he scowled at Yamaguchi, who just grinned and spun the volleyball in his hands, an almost expectant glint in his eyes. Dusting his shorts off, Kei sat his water bottle aside and hurried back to where they were standing, rolling his shoulders and waiting for further instruction.

“When does your summer training camp start?” Yamaguchi asked, tossing the ball to Kei as he talked.

“Two weeks from now. Coach wants to decide the starting line up at the end, so we’re going to be practicing hard,” Akiteru answered, resting his hands on his hips as Kei half-heartedly swats the ball back in Yamaguchi’s general direction.

“Are you nervous?” Yamaguchi asks, his eyes wide.

Before Akiteru can answer, Kei scoffs, mimicking his brother’s stance with a smile on his face. “Of course he’s not! Akiteru was captain of his last team, and he’s been training hard all year! He’ll definitely be a starter!”

Something flickers in his brother’s face, but it’s replaced with a broad grin before he can even wonder about what it is, arms coming around him and pulling him into a sweaty hug. “With that kind of confidence, it’s hard to worry!”

“Hey!” Kei protests, trying to get out of the headlock he’s suddenly found himself in, but his brother is still bigger and stronger than him, leaving him no choice but to kind of sag in his hold and accept his fate.

“That would be so cool,” Yamaguchi says, something crushingly fond in his gaze as he watches the two of them. “Karasuno has a really good team, so it’d be a big accomplishment to get to start.”

“We should go there too,” Kei pipes up, his voice kind of muffled by Akiteru’s arm, but still clear enough to reach his friend.

His eyes, a muddy brown that match the forrest of his voice, go wide, and he fumbles the ball in his grasp. “We...together?” he stammers.

“Of course,” Kei says, frowning, not liking the rain water and heavy clouds that start to encroach on the edge of the forrest. “Why would I want to go to a different school than you? After all this practice, you better not try and get away.”

Akiteru lets him go, and Yamaguchi makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle. But when he looks up, his eyes are bright, smiling with such fierce happiness that Kei almost feels burned by it. “Yeah! Let’s both go to Karasuno, Tsukki!”

It feels like a promise, and something unhappily niggles at the back of Kei’s mind in the face of it, but he can’t put his finger on what it is. Instead, he just picks up the ball Yamaguchi fumbled and dropped, and tackles practice with renewed vigor.

Of course, he ends up figuring out what that niggle is at the beginning of his fourth year. After their homeroom meeting, the teacher changes places with the class representative, standing behind his desk and smiling at the students.

“We’re going to be taking a field trip at the end of next month,” he says, the reedy wheat color of his voice eclipsed completely by the excited chatter that rises from the students.

“Where are we going?” a girl with grape-colored waves says without even raising her hand.

“If you all would quiet down, I’d be able to tell you,” the teacher chastises, and everyone falls quiet. “We’re going to be going to Aoba Castle.”

Kei is familiar with the landmark; it’s in the same prefecture, and not that far from the school. He’s never been, but they’ve been discussing it in history class, which is probably the reasoning behind the outing. It’ll be his first field trip, and he can’t help the excited flutter in his stomach.

“I can’t wait,” Yamaguchi says, shifting restlessly in his chair as they eat their lunch, desks pushed together like they’ve done since they were placed in the same class this year. “I moved before I could go on any of the outings at my old schools, so this will be my first one!”

“Mine too,” Kei says, taking a sip of his strawberry milk. “Do you think everyone in our year is going, or just our class?”

Yamaguchi looks thoughtful. “It would make more sense if we all went. Aren’t we covering all the same stuff in history?”

“Should be.” Kei isn’t sure how many students are in their year. The school isn’t especially large, but he also hasn’t had to deal with groups any bigger than what would fit in their classroom. “I hope it’s just us. I don’t like crowds.”

Yamaguchi looks at him, and it’s a familiar look. It’s the look he gave him when he saw the “Kei Feels” chart and the pencil drawings still hanging on the fridge. It’s a look that makes Kei feel like a puzzle, or like he’s trying to hide some great secret and the only reason he’s successful is because Yamaguchi doesn’t want to push.

“I think a small group would be good, too,” Yamaguchi agrees eventually, and it eases Kei’s nerves enough that he can finish his lunch.

It all comes back full force when he gives the permission slip to his mother and she frowns, lower lip between her teeth as she reads. “The entire fourth year is going, and it sounds like you’re going to be there all day. It requests that I pack you a bento to eat while you're out when everyone takes a break from touring the castle.”

“Do you know how many people that is?” Kei asks, pulling at his fingers as he watches her instead of eating the snack she sat on the table in front of him.

“I’m not sure,” she says, gusting out a sigh. “But it’s more people than you’ve dealt with before, and there’s probably going to be lots of people there besides your class. The castle is really popular with other schools this time of year.”

Suddenly, lunch isn’t sitting well with him. “Maybe I shouldn’t go,” he mumbles.

The worry in his mother’s face suddenly shifts to determination. “No, I think you should. This is your first class outing, and Yamaguchi will be there, right?”

His mind isn’t sure if that should relieve him or worry him further. “Yeah. He’s really excited about it.”

Nodding her head, she picks up her pen, scrawling her signature across the bottom. “You’ve made so much progress since you started school,” she says, reaching out and running her fingers through his hair. “I don’t want you to spend your whole life being scared of going out where there’s going to be lots of people. We’ll never know if we don’t try.”

Kei sucks in a deep, shuddery breath, letting his head rest against his mother’s stomach as she strokes his hair. “Do you think I can do it?” he asks, voice small.

“Of course you can,” she says, ducking down to press a kiss to his curls. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

He turns in his permission slip the next day, and pushes the worry to the back of his mind. It’s fairly easy to do, because he has other things to worry about. Like Akiteru.

He’s been acting weird, avoiding everyone and spending a lot of time shut up in his room. When he leaves for school every morning, he still smiles at Kei and ruffles his hair, but there’s something tight about the expression, and the clementine color of his voice is starting to feel sour, darkening like the fruit is going rotten, especially when he talks about volleyball. Their practice sessions are far and few between, and some nights, he still hasn’t come home from school before Kei goes to bed.

It makes sense, since Akiteru told him he was part of the starting line up, so of course he has to practice really hard to be an asset to his team. But part of him isn’t sure if he wants his brother to be a starter if it means he acts like this, dull colored and distant. It’s been so long since he was allowed to go and read comics in his brother’s bed, or do his homework spread out on the rug while Akiteru studied at his desk.

He doesn’t like it, not one bit. But he isn’t sure what to do about it, so he sits snacks outside his brother’s door and wishes him luck every morning and smiles as much as he can.

On the day of the outing, he goes to school with two bentos, one for him and one for Yamaguchi. His mother had made all their favorites, rolled omelettes and croquettes and vegetables cut into stars and flowers. Yamaguchi opens his immediately, cooing at the way it’s all been arranged as he balances the open box on his knees, the two of them sitting on the steps while they wait for the busses to show up.

“Your mom is the best,” Yamaguchi gushes, closing the box and wrapping it up in the handkerchief it had been tied them up in.

“She really is,” Kei agrees, and the two of them exchange grins; they’re the luckiest kids in their class.

Listening to Yamaguchi chatter mindlessly helps ease the discomfort in his stomach as more and more students pour into the courtyard, toting bags and boxes of food in various sizes, their voices rising to a cacophony that drowns everything out. Eventually he has to pull his headphones on, thumbing through songs until he finds one of the louder, techno songs Akiteru gave him recently, and Yamaguchi doesn’t seem bothered by the sudden shift. He just falls silent, watching the bodies moving around, seemingly content to be a warm presence at Kei’s side as he drowns the colors out with nothing but noise.

When their teachers arrive and start sorting everyone out, it get quieter, and they join their class to board the bus. Of course, Kei and Yamaguchi signed up to be buddies, and they sit next to each other at the back of the bus, more than a little pleased with themselves with their seats and the way it places them just barely out of the reach of their teacher (who seems more than a little harassed by all the chaos).

Things settle down eventually once the bus gets moving, and Yamaguchi watches over his shoulder as he plays Pokemon on Akiteru’s old GameBoy (that he’d kind of stolen from where it was collecting dust in one of the drawers under the television). There are occasional spikes of color, kids playing clapping games or laughing loudly at a joke, but it’s just annoying instead of genuinely distracting. It makes him think of eating something enjoyable and suddenly biting into a part that’s kind of hard or not cooked right; Yamaguchi is talking to him, telling him what to name his Pokemon and which type is best against his enemies, and the soft forest is only occasionally eclipsed by sharp yellows and purples and pinks before it goes back to normal.

Kei is starting to think he can do this. It’s like class, but just a little more distracting, and he isn’t expected to answer questions or go up and write on the board. If he gets a little overwhelmed, as long as he has Yamaguchi, he can keep moving until things settle down, and as a last resort, he has his headphones.

Or, he has his headphones until he starts to get off the bus, and his teacher stops him.

“Tsukishima, give me your headphones please.”

“Why?” he demands, and even though he knows he’s being rude, he’s panicking too much to try and remember his manners.

“You’re expected to pay attention to your tour guide and give the castle your proper respect,” he says, the reedy wheat of his voice sounding especially sharp. “It would be very rude of you to have your headphones on, so please hand them over.”

Yamaguchi’s hand is holding onto the strap of Kei's bag, and he can practically feel the other boy silently urging him to just do what their teacher is asking. With faintly trembling fingers, he unplugs the headphones from his MP3 player and hands them over, trying to ignore the feeling of his stomach dropping to his toes and his heart rising to his throat.

It throws him off so much, he feels like he’s standing on a tightrope with no safety net. Kei isn’t sure if he would needed his headphones, but just knowing that they’re there is such a source of comfort for him, he feels decidedly off balance now, hyper aware of the noise around him and paranoid.

And oh, there’s so much noise. It’s crowded, just like his mom predicted, and humid and hot. The guides are shouting sharp bursts of crimson and fluorescent orange over the rainbows of his classmates, colors flickering by at such a speed that he thinks he’s going to throw up. Yamaguchi’s grip on his bag, tugging him in the right direction, is the only reason he knows where to go; everything is so cluttered and loud that, for the first time, he can’t see through them.

He manages to stumble through the guided tour, and he can’t take in the beautiful architecture or the perfectly manicured garden over the throbbing in his head or the blur of color obscuring his vision. For some reason, Yamaguchi hasn’t let go of the strap of his bag, and is carefully pushing and pulling him through the hallways, nudging the back of his knees to tell him when to take his shoes off and when to put them back on. He thinks the other is trying to talk to him, but he can’t find the forrest green through everything else.

When they come out again, Yamaguchi immediately goes to the bathroom, hurrying and tugging Kei behind him and making sure to hold the door open for him. Almost immediately, Kei sits down, not caring that this is a bathroom and that it’s probably gross; his eyes are streaming, and he’s never had a headache this bad before. It feels like someone has put a nail between his eyes and is mercilessly hammering it in.

“Tsukki?” the forrest voice asks, and with the door separating them from the rest of the noise, he can finally distinguish it from everything else. “What’s wrong?”

“Too loud,” he croaks, voice sounding dry and cracked as he puts his hands over his ears, body shaking like he can’t get warm as he tries to breath. “It’s too loud.”

Yamaguchi is shaking too, but he can only tell because of his friend’s hand pressing against his forehead. “Stay here,” he says, determined, and Kei wants to scream.

“Please don’t get the teacher,” he cries, no longer caring that he’s completely losing it in front of the only friend he has, the only person who he’s cared about since Satoshi. The last thing he wants to do is be lead out of the bathroom, paraded around in front of his classmates in such a state. He doesn’t want to disappoint his mother, to make her come pick him up with such soft understanding in her eyes despite the fact that he _failed_.

There’s the sound of movement, the sound of the snaps of Yamaguchi’s bag, and there’s the sudden addition of weight over his shoulders. “I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Stay here, and lock the door.”

And then he’s gone. Kei manages to fumble the lock on the door closed, and he curls into a miserable ball, pulling Yamaguchi’s jacket (“I told my mom it was too hot to need one today, but she made me pack it just to be safe”) closer around him in an imitation of the way his mother wrapped him up after that first day of school. With the added pressure around him and the way his hands over his ears and the walls of the bathroom muffle everything, his vision finally starts to clear. The tears have dried on his cheeks, and even if his head is still throbbing, the colors are muted into something fuzzy and unfocused and easy to see through.

The stupid, dramatic part of him wonders if he’s going to die or something.

After what feels like hours, there’s a soft knock on the door, and he unlocks the door much easier this time. Yamaguchi slips inside, looking a bit relieved to see that Kei isn’t shaking or crying any longer. In his hands, he has a bottle of water, and...

“Headphones?” Kei asks, incredulous. “Where did you get them?”

“Ah, they...they have these little stands, for the audio tour? I told them I wanted to go through again, and they made me sign a little piece of paper and put my class and the teacher’s name, but I got them. These should fit your MP3 player, right?”

Kei digs the player out of his bag, praying that this place doesn’t use weird, special headphones that only work with the audio tour player to keep people from stealing them. Thankfully, the jack fits easily into his player, and he wastes no time in slipping them over his ears and turning it on. Yamaguchi hands him the water bottle, and Kei guzzles about half of it in one go, the cold water feeling amazing on his throat.

He settles against the wall, huddled in the corner, with the music slowly unwinding his tense, quivering muscles and easing the throbbing in his head. Yamaguchi settles next to him, like a physical barrier between him and the door to the bathroom, looking at the tiny window and the sunlight filtering in through it. It’s impossible to feel his warmth through the layers of the jacket and the heat in the air, but his presence his still there, and every time he shifts, their legs and arms brush.

Time passes by, and Kei might have actually dozed off for a moment, but eventually he feels almost as centered as he had back at the school before they left. Still a bit nervous and nauseous, but steady enough that he doesn’t feel blind.

“Do you want to find somewhere to eat our lunch?” Yamaguchi asks, tapping Kei’s shoulder before he speaks to make sure the other is paying attention to him. “No offense, Tsukki, but I don’t want to eat in a public bathroom.”

“Me either,” Kei says, pulling the headphones off long enough to splash his face with cool water before replacing them, holding the borrowed jacket out to Yamaguchi. His friend takes it wordlessly, folding it up and putting it in his bag before grasping the strap of Kei’s bag, using that small point of contact to lead him out of the bathroom and out into the sun.

It’s almost painfully bright, but his eyes adjust quickly, and with the music blocking out most of the noise, he can actually see the castle grounds, look up at the tall buildings, and marvel at the plants and flowers growing in the gardens. They follow the path through the courtyard, back towards the area where the sheds and stables are, and there’s a grassy area behind one of them, smelling like old hay and sunshine. Most importantly, it’s completely deserted.

Yamaguchi digs into his bento with gusto, but Kei just sits there, looking at him with something akin to wonder. That was...what just happened, that was about a thousand times worse than what had happened with Satoshi. This wasn’t an innocent drawing changing hands, this was Kei going practically catatonic, panicking and overstimulated and blind. And Yamaguchi hadn’t said anything, hadn’t drawn any attention to it; he’d handled it by using the skills Kei had been using the whole time they were friends.

He’d been watching, learning, paying attention to Kei, noticing that he only put his headphones on when it was noisy outside, that he tended to hug himself or tense up when they would walk through crowded areas of town. They were little things, tiny things really, but it had been enough for Yamaguchi to pick up on, and his throat felt tight for some reason.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

Yamaguchi has his mouth full of rice, so it takes him a minute to answer. “Ask about what?”

“What happened earlier.” Kei can’t bring himself to look at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek and staring at his shoes.

For a moment, Yamaguchi doesn’t say anything; he just looks at Kei, a bit of sauce in the corner of his mouth and his eyes unspeakably fond. “Are you hurt?”

“What?” That wasn’t what he was expecting. “N-no, I’m okay now.”

“Then it’s fine!” And he’d accuse him of lying, but the sunshine through the trees and soft moss is the same as always, not acrid with disgust or grey with fear. “I’m your friend, Tsukki, and friends look out for each other. I’m just glad I was able to help.”

There are words stuck in his throat, words like _I have chromesthesia. I can see colors, and your voice is the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen in my life, but I don’t know why._ But they stick there like glue, and all he can do is lean his shoulder against Yamaguchi’s and wordlessly offer him anything he wants out of his bento, praying that it’s enough to get his gratitude across.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://princessofmind.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few notes before we get started! I apologize for the long wait between updates, and for such a small update; I wanted to set everything up for the next chapter, which is going to be much, much longer. Thank you so much for bearing with me! Additionally, take note of the canon-divergence tag that has been added; this fic follows the timeline of the anime and manga, but liberties have been taken with the actual content of these events. And finally, I've uploaded a [**playlist**](http://8tracks.com/princessofmind/your-voice-is-my-favorite-color) that contains the songs that I usually listen to when writing on this fic, if anyone is curious!

Kei is beginning to wonder if his brother hates him.

The times he sees him are becoming fewer and further between, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that not only is he avoiding home, but he’s avoiding Kei in particular. He hears his parents talking to Akiteru in low, serious voices sometimes when he’s supposed to be in bed, and while he can’t risk getting close enough to eavesdrop, he sits at the bottom of the stairs and listens to the intonation of their voices and the blurred, unfocused slide of their colors. When their voices are so soft, things aren’t as bright as usual, but it’s still there, and it’s the only way he gets to see oranges and clementines these days.

“I bet he’s just stressed,” Yamaguchi says, tossing the volleyball for Kei to return. They’ve given up on waiting for Akiteru to teach them, and have resolved to keep up practice on their own. “I don’t have a big brother or sister, but people in class talk a lot about how stressful high school is.”

“Akiteru doesn’t get stressed, though,” Kei replies, a furrow between his eyebrows as he almost smacks himself in the face with the ball. “He’s just. He’s so good at everything, you know?”

“I know!” At least Yamaguchi looks as puzzled as him. “Do you think maybe he’s being bullied?”

Kei catches the ball in lieu of returning it. “No way.” But something about thinking about his brother looking like Yamaguchi, backed against a tree with his head down and his eyes watery, cheeks flushed with shame, makes his stomach hurt.

The silence stretches on long enough that Yamaguchi must realize that he’s upset him, because he waves his hands hurriedly and says, “But I’m sure that’s not it! Akiteru is really cool and nice, so why would someone bully him?”

“Yeah,” Kei says, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

But he still asks his mom at dinner that night, with Yamaguchi sitting in Akiteru’s seat in a way that’s becoming increasingly common as time progresses. His father is reading the newspaper, his face hidden from them, but his mother’s expression is open and surprised.

“Kei, why would you ask that?”

He picks listlessly at his rice. “Because he hasn’t been home, and it feels like something is wrong. I don’t want him to be sad.”

His father lowers his paper, and he exchanges a look with his mother, one that seems loaded in complicated meaning that he can’t even begin to parse. “He’s not being bullied, sweetie,” she answers eventually, but her cotton candy is all greyed out. “Your brother is just.” The way she looks at his father is helpless, and he takes the initiative to swoop in and help.

“He has a lot going on right now,” his father says, setting the newspaper aside. “Second years have to start looking at universities, and Akiteru is in the college prep class, which is a lot more work than normal classes. All of that on top of volleyball means he has to spend a lot of extra time at school, and it’s taking a lot out of him.”

“I don’t like it,” Kei mutters, and Yamaguchi nods fractionally to agree. They both miss him; it feels like Akiteru is just as much Yamaguchi’s big brother now as he is Kei’s.

“I’m sure when school is out for the summer, he’ll spend more time with you again,” she says, standing and walking over to the rice cooker and momentarily resting her hands on both of their heads. “Now, Tadashi, would you like some more rice?”

There’s a momentary pause, and Yamaguchi and his mother’s faces both bloom into impressive blushes. “Oh, goodness, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” Yamaguchi interrupts, his face breaking into a wide grin. “You can call me Tadashi.”

“He practically lives here anyway,” Kei mutters into his miso, and Yamaguchi kicks his ankle lightly under the table, but the barely-there flare of pain isn’t enough to drive the smile completely from his face. Even if things with Akiteru are weird and painful, he at least still has Yamaguchi, and knowing his parents love his friend so dearly eases a tightness in his chest he doesn’t know the origin of; he just knows it’s very important to him that Yamaguchi slots into his family as perfectly as he does.

Of course, his mother was wrong. Once summer rolled around, Akiteru spent all his time out of the house. Kei knew that his brother didn’t have a job, and while he was doing things at cram school, it shouldn’t be taking up all his time like this. The summer between his fifth and sixth year is a kaleidoscope of moss green laughter and cicadas chirping and impromptu volleyball games played with a few kids from their school who lived in the neighborhood. Yamaguchi and Kei were untouchable, and they were more than a little smug about it.

“My brother is one of the starters for Karasuno,” he said proudly, pushing his glasses back up on his nose from where the sweat on his skin was making them slip. “He’s been teaching Yamaguchi and I for a couple years now.”

“That’s why Tsukki is so good,” Yamaguchi chirped, propping the volleyball on his hip and beaming at his friend like he was looking at the sun.

He’s only eleven, but something about the way Yamaguchi looked at him sometimes brought a heavy blush to his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze to his shoes. “You’re good too, stupid,” he groused, shoving lightly at his friend’s back.

Yamaguchi’s smile brightens even further, if possible, but before he can answer, one of the boys (who they’d thoroughly beaten), scoffs and asks, “what position does your brother play?”

There’s a moment of silence, and Kei feels like he doesn’t understand the question. What...position does Akiteru play?

The boys are still looking at him expectantly, and the smile is completely gone from Yamaguchi’s face.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and the words taste acrid in his mouth, and the ordinary blue and teal of their opponents tinge with a mocking, pea-green color when they laugh.

“How do you not know what position your own brother plays?” the teal voice asks, and Kei can feel something unfamiliar twisting in his stomach like a snake.

“Are you lying? Maybe he isn’t even really on the team,” the blue voice says, and Kei is moving forward before he understands what he’s doing, fingers curled into fists so tightly that he can feel his fingernails digging into his palms. The boy takes an alarmed step back, but Kei has started to grow, and he’s _tall_ , looming over him and cocking his fist back, how _dare_ he talk about Akiteru like that-

Yamaguchi is fast, though, a lot faster than he is, and his fingers wrap around Kei’s bicep, acting as a steady anchor that keeps him from moving. “Tsukki, stop,” he says, and his voice is deceptively calm, not panicked or scared, but like he’s holding back a fury of his own.

“Were you going to _hit_ me?!” the blue voice cries, moving back rapidly with his friend in tow. “What’s _wrong_ with you?”

What _was_ wrong with him? Even now, he’s still shaking with barely restrained anger, to the point where he feels like he can’t think straight, and Yamaguchi is the only thing keeping him from giving chase.

Yamaguchi doesn’t release his arm until the two boys are gone, turning down the street and disappearing out of sight (presumably to return to their own homes). Breathing deeply and evenly, it feels like the haze over his brain has lifted enough for him to look at the other boy, his cheeks flushed and jaw tight, clenching his teeth together.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“I think you need to talk to Akiteru,” Yamaguchi says in lieu of responding to his apology, his mouth pressed in a tight line and his eyes worried. “I know you don’t want to bother him, but this is _really_ upsetting you, Tsukki, and I’m worried!”

Kei’s throat feels tight, and his own reluctance to actually talk to his brother doesn’t really make any sense to him. Normally he feels like he can talk to his brother about anything, but all the missed practices and the empty chair at dinner has built a wall, and no matter how tall Kei is now, he doesn’t feel like he can scale it. The brother who let him sleep in his bed and bought him colored pencils to draw voice colors seems like such a distant memory, fuzzy and pastel with age. Was any of it even real?

“Are you scared that he won’t talk to you?” Yamaguchi asks softly, and Kei’s throat closes the rest of the way.

“No,” he says, a lot louder and meaner and hoarser than he meant to, and it makes his friend flinch minutely. The denial is confirmation itself, and he hates how much better Yamaguchi is at this than he is. It feels like he always knows what’s going on with Kei’s emotions, can easily see through the anger and bitterness and find the root of it all, can dig out the happiness and excitement he tries so hard to hide at school but ultimately turns loose at home.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi mumbles, his arms wrapped tight around the volleyball and his eyes on the dirt beneath his sneakers. It hurts, right under his heart and piercing between his ribs.

This was supposed to be fun. The practice matches are great, and even if they win more often than not, it’s so great to work together as a team, playing off each other and moving effortly around the court together, even if the court is just the dirt in the park and the net is a long bit of string tied between two trees. But now he can feel something foreign in his chest, bitter and angry and discontent.

Wordlessly, he holds his hand out, palm up, and when Yamaguchi takes it, he holds on tight enough to make his fingers ache the entire way home.

That night, he stays up as late as he can, using a flashlight under his blankets and one of his favorite books to keep himself awake until he hears the creak of the stairs and the sound of his brother’s bedroom door opening. All evening he’s been jittery, anxious and sick to his stomach, but Yamaguchi was right. He needed to talk to his brother.

Slipping out from the nest of his blankets, he pads down the hall towards the thin slice of light shining out from under the door. The wood is cool under his bare feet, and he can hear Akiteru moving around in his bedroom, shuffling papers and placing objects on the floor and his desk. Trying to swallow his heart down, he reaches out, raping his knuckles against the door twice before taking a step back.

It takes a moment, long enough that he’s starting to worry that maybe his brother didn’t hear his timid knocking, but then the door opens and he’s momentarily blinding by the light shining from his bedroom.

“Kei? What are you still doing up?”

His tongue is glued to the top of his mouth, and he can’t help but notice how haggard Akiteru looks. His normally neat hair is ruffled, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and there are dark circles under his eyes. The clementine and orange of his voice looks ashy, washed out like a chalk drawing in the rain, and that’s the most alarming thing of all.

“Are you okay?” he blurts out.

Akiteru doesn’t have to look down so far to meet his eyes now, but there’s still enough of a height difference that he feels five again, safe in his brother’s shadow like he’s always been. It doesn’t feel particularly safe or soothing now, though, and he looks down at him with an unreadable, pinched expression before laughing.

“Why would you ask that? Of course I’m okay. Sorry I...um, haven’t been around much. I’m busy with school and practice.”

“I miss you,” Kei says, chewing on his bottom lip and tugging on his fingers. “I. I never see you anymore, and I miss you.”

Akiteru actually _flinches_ , his eyes darting away to look inside his room as his lips press into a hard, unmoving line to hide the tremble that started to take hold there. “I’m sorry,” he says again, softer and fractured, and this is exactly what Kei was afraid of.

_I’m sorry, but not sorry enough to do anything about it._

It isn’t until he hears Akiteru take a deep, heavy breath that he even realizes he’s started crying, big, fat tears falling to the floor and his bare feet. Arms wrap around him, pulling him against a warm, strong chest, and Kei wastes no time in holding on as tight as he can. He can feel Akiteru’s breaths ruffling the hair by his ear, and he knows that he’s getting his brother’s shirt wet, but he doesn’t really care at this point.

“I’m so sorry, Kei,” he says, and his voice sounds choked, like he’s only barely holding it together himself, and that just makes him cry harder, because he never, ever wanted to make his brother so sad that he’s close to tears himself. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I just. I just have a lot going on, and I’m stressed, so I’m not very good company.”

“I’d rather spend time with you when you’re grumpy than not spend time with you at all,” he says fiercely. “I don’t care. You’re my brother.”

Akiteru sighs, his fingers absently carding through Kei’s hair in a soothing, repetitive motion. “Okay,” he says, like admitting defeat, and Kei wishes he knew why it doesn’t immediately fill him with joy to hear. “Okay.”

After that, it’s simultaneously better and worse.

His brother starts making appearances at dinner, but there’s a weird tension between him and their parents that hasn’t always been there. Yamaguchi acts like there’s nothing wrong, chattering to everyone at the table about any and everything, keeping the conversations moving and the tension from getting so bad that it becomes cloying.

Thank god for Yamaguchi.

Akiteru starts calling him Tadashi as well, and he seems to be a bit more at ease when it’s just the three of them and not the entire family. It’s not perfect, it’s not what Kei _wants_ , but he’s starting to think he’ll never get what he wants.

Those days of all five of them sitting around the table, laughing freely while Kei kicks his short legs idly, smiling around his chopsticks as their voices rise and twist into a watercolor painting of pinks and blues and oranges and greens, running together perfectly like a sunset, seem so far away. Sometimes they’d gone out for ice cream afterwards, or all piled into the living room to watch television, and on the rare occasion, his parents would sit on the back porch and watch the three of them practice volleyball.

The picture is fractured now, the colors refusing to mesh together, and it makes him want to scream because he hasn’t _done_ anything, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make it go back to the way it was.

His final year of elementary school and Akiteru’s final year of high school coincide, and intellectually he knows that this is the last year he’ll have before his brother leaves for college, but how much of a change is it going to be? He barely sees him, and when he does, he seems distracted, reluctant, and the smile he tries to hide it behind is just. Disgusting. A brittle, bitter thing that makes Kei want to punch him like the boy in the park.

But life goes on, as it always does. School is...school, and Yamaguchi is in the same class as him again. They’re attached at the hip as usual, to the point where their teacher (a pretty silver color, shot through with periwinkle that looks almost like stars) is used to addressing both of them at once instead of separately. It doesn’t bother Kei; he likes being associated with Yamaguchi, with his unfaltering calm and soft greens and bright smile and freckles.

They both get good grades, and are at the top of their class, with Kei landing the top spot and Yamaguchi not that far behind. Whenever they aren’t in class, they’re practicing, be it at the school or in Kei’s backyard; they start middle school next year, which means their first, official entry into the world of volleyball. Middle school means a club, a _team_ , and while his excitement is a bit more muted than Yamaguchi’s, Kei is so ready to finally be part of something bigger than himself. They’ve been working so hard, they’re sure to be an asset to the team, and Amemaru Middle School is known for having a strong team made of an even mixture of all three years.

It’s the same school, the same club, Akiteru went to, and while that fact used to fill him with such pride and excitement he felt about to burst with it, it’s more deflated now. He’ll be wearing the same uniform as his brother, the same colors and jersey, but did it really matter now? Akiteru wouldn’t even be there to see him play, and while he’d once housed the selfish hope that his brother might come home just to watch the tournament matches, that’s almost definitely not going to happen with the way things are.

He’s probably going to leave, and Kei isn’t going to see him again except at holidays.

And maybe that’s why he wants to see his brother play so badly it feels like he’s choking on it. It’s been so long since he’s watched him with the ball in his hands, tossing and setting and laughing, all clementines and oranges and bright smiles. He _shines_ when he’s playing, like the sun, and it was watching that from his mother’s lap, eyes wide and eager as his brother was enveloped in the arms of his crowing teammates after a victory, that made him want to play so badly in the first place.

“Hey,” he says, standing at Yamaguchi’s desk with his backpack on, hands shoved in his pockets as his friend finishes packing up his belongings. “Akiteru’s last match in the prefecture is tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?”

There’s a momentary pause, because Akiteru had told him (both of them, actually), that he’d rather they not come to his matches. It made him really nervous, he said, and he needed to be the best asset he could be to his team, and Kei had hurriedly agreed. The last thing he wanted to do was have his presence actually distract his brother from what needed to be done, but at this point, he selfishly just wanted a glimpse, to see if he could find the brother he’d loved and looked up to all his life.

“Of course!” Yamaguchi said excitedly, the sunshine through the leaves even brighter in his joy. “I’ve never gotten to see Akiteru play in a match before!”

Now he’s even more glad that he made the decision to go, because he _wants_ his friend to see him play, to be just as impressed and moved as he’d been all those years ago.

He’d gotten his mother to agree to drive them so they didn’t have to take the train all the way out to the stadium, and they’re both vibrating with excitement the whole way. She laughs at their excitement, but it’s in the same, kind way she laughs at the way they pick the green peppers out of their dinner or bicker ceaselessly over what to watch on television. It makes the car feel warmer, and...maybe this is what he needed to do all along. No matter how much he tries to appear sullen, he can’t stop smiling.

“I’ll come back in a couple hours to pick you up,” she says, pulling up to the curb and twisting to look over the back of the seat and the two boys clamber out. “If the match finishes before then, find your brother and go home with him. Okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” they both chirp, and when she blows them a kiss, they both make grasping motions and press their closed fists to their chests, right over their heart.

They don’t bother waiting for her to pull away; the excitement has made them restless all day, and they hurry up the stairs to the large building, and they take a moment to just...look, and see all the people milling around and the sound of cheering inside.

“We’re going to be playing in here one day,” Yamaguchi breathes, and his green is so bright is pierces through the kaleidoscope of colors from the crowds. “We’re going to be wearing the same orange jerseys, and playing on the same court as Akiteru.”

Kei looks at him, and grins. “We’re going to be the best, right? The two of us.”

Like always, Yamaguchi looks taken aback to be included, but he just grabs Kei’s hand, squeezing his fingers tight. “Yeah. Together.”

The excitement, the joy, that he’s been missing is suddenly back, curling warm in his chest and down his arm to the place where their hands are joined.

It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://princessofmind.tumblr.com/


	4. Chapter 4

The stadium is huge, and if he hadn’t spent so much time in the past few years getting used to crowds, Kei would be completely overwhelmed. He has his headphones in the pocket of his hoodie, along with his MP3 player, but Yamaguchi chattering happily beside him as they walk through the throngs of people makes it easier to focus. It’s gotten easier and easier as time goes on to isolate colors and voices, to keep himself from getting sick or dizzy when there’s too much going on. There are still times when he has to back away, put his headphones on, but after so many years together, Yamaguchi is easy to pick out no matter how loud it gets.

Because it’s so crowded, they don’t drop their hands when they walk into the building; even with his recent growth spurt, Kei is still an elementary school student, and Yamaguchi hasn’t even started to grow yet. They’d get separated, and lost.

And while they both know they’re too old to hold hands so much, it kind of happens naturally, and in this situation at least, it’s normal to hold on to each other. Kei likes the warm feeling of Yamaguchi’s hand in his own, their matching callouses from volleyball and the rough texture of his friend’s fingers from where he chews on his cuticles when he’s studying.

“Do you know which side of the stadium Karasuno is playing on?” Yamaguchi asks when they reach the end of a long hallway and they’re met with a split, obviously leading to different ends of the stadium.

“That side, I think,” Kei answers, pointing to the left with his free hand.

“The match has already started, it looks like,” Yamaguchi comments idly, looking up at one of the digital clocks inset into the wall.

“It hasn’t been going for long, so we haven’t missed much. It’s fine.” Their car was nice, but temperamental; there’d been some trouble, and his dad had come out to bully the thing into working, muttering all along about needing to make time to go get it looked at.

There’s wide openings in the wall that lead into the stadium proper, but Kei wants to make sure they go far enough before going inside; it’s crowded, and they’d either have to go back to the hallway and go further or fight through the crowds to get close enough. He can hear the squeak of sneakers, the loud THWACK of hands meeting the volleyball and the cheers of the crowd, and he’s walking faster than Yamaguchi can realistically keep up, making his friend move at kind of an awkward half-jog, but when he looks back, he’s smiling, not even the least bit perturbed.

Finally, he feels like they’ve moved far enough around the big circle that is the stadium, and they walk through the opening, and he’s momentarily blinded by the bright lights of the court compared to the dimness of the hallway. The smell is so familiar it makes him lightheaded, like salonpas and sweat and wax, but it’s _good_. It makes him want to play.

Yamaguchi is tugging him forward, pushing around a few people until they reach the railing that separates the stadium seating and the court itself. It gives them a great first view of the courts, of the teams running around in front of the net, leaping and spiking and receiving, calling out support to each other. Across the way, there are sections of seats filled with the other club members, holding banners and cheering for their teams. There’s a different kind of energy, an intensity that wasn’t present in the middle school matches, and it makes him understand why Akiteru didn’t want him to come watch. There’s a _lot_ of pressure to play well.

“Look, there’s Karasuno!” Yamaguchi says excitedly, pointing to the players in orange just slightly to the left of where they were standing.

He can see Coach Ukai sitting on the bench, arms folded and a furrow between his brow, and the look isn’t necessarily one of displeasure, but of _focus_. There’s a boy sitting there next to him that Kei recognizes as his brother’s vice captain from middle school, his unruly brown curls pulled back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck to keep it out of his eyes.

But where’s...

“I don’t see Akiteru,” Yamaguchi says, sounding confused.

There’s a roar from the crowd, and a small, dark-haired boy in the number ten jersey leaps so high Kei is momentarily distracted from looking for his brother. It’s _incredible_ , like he’s grown wings, and when his palm meets the ball, he sends it right past the blockers with pin-point accuracy, keeping it just barely inside the line and in bounds.

“Tsukki?”

“Maybe he went to the bathroom,” he mutters, but it feels like everything is happening too fast, and the colors are starting to kaleidoscope in a way he knows means he’s getting overwhelmed.

Where _is_ he?

The Karasuno team in the stands cheers in response to the point they just got, yelling into their megaphones and slapping them with their hands. It catches Kei’s attention for a moment, just a moment, but it’s long enough, because there aren’t any other blonds on Karasuno’s team this year. Just Akiteru.

Akiteru, who’s sitting in the stands in his black warm up with a megaphone in his hands, a smile on his face as he’s jostled by the boys on either side of him.

His stomach drops to his feet, and Yamaguchi makes a pained noise when his hand spasms, nails digging into the back of his friend’s hand.

And in something that approximates slow motion, Akiteru looks out into the crowd and spots the familiar sight of messy curls and glasses, and it’s like he’s been shot. The megaphone fumbles, almost falling out of his hands, and he looks _stricken_ , panicked, ashamed, and Kei feels.

He feels nothing.

“Tsukki, what-”

Yamaguchi follows his gaze, and it’s obvious the moment that he sees Akiteru in the stands, because he gasps, his free hand flying up to cover his mouth when he can’t quite seem to close it in his shock.

Kei lets go of his hand. Turns away from this place, that felt so wonderful before but now is only _sickening_ , and flees.

It feels like he’s been hollowed out, like there’s nothing inside him that can feel, and it’s a scary kind of blankness and emptiness that drives him forward, ignoring the crashing waves of color and overstimulated nausea that fights its way up his throat. Yamaguchi must be follow him, wouldn’t stay behind when his friend fled, but he can’t make himself stop moving long enough for him to catch up. He has to get _out_.

He hits the front door hard, his hands slipping on the metal bar that would open it, and he wants to smack his head against the glass, beat the image from his mind that he can’t erase.

Akiteru lied. He _lied_. He’s been lying for _years_.

“Tsukki!”

Heaving, he manages to get the door open, stumbling out into the cool air of sunset, and his fingertips are tingling, probably because he hasn’t been able to get a good, deep breath since he clapped eyes on his brother. But it’s not like the time at the castle, he isn’t shaking or crying, he’s just...breathless. Silently breathless.

Yamaguchi collides with him much like he just collided with the door, his hands immediately clutching at Kei’s hoodie and holding on tight, like the other would try and get away from _him_ too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, fingers tugging at his hoodie almost absently as his head rests between Kei’s shoulder-blades, and his voice is wet and distressed and everything Kei wishes he could feel. “Tsukki, I’m so sorry.”

Yamaguchi is crying, crying _hard_ , and Kei wonders how much of the hurt he’s feeling is his own, and how much of it is grief over what this means for him.

“I don’t care,” Kei says, and his voice sounds foreign, hard and cold and sharp.

The other boy just shakes his head, sniffling wetly.

“I don’t want to stay here.”

Taking a few deep, choking breaths, Yamaguchi lets go, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater. “Do you want to go home?”

_Home_. Where there’s nothing but memories of Akiteru, of simpler times and of the avoidance both, and it’s so clear to him now. He started avoiding him so that Kei would never find out that he was lying, that the last three years of their lives he’s been feeding him lies. He’d have to explain it to his parents, and god, did they know? Had they known all this time? Was that why they had been whispering in the kitchen at night?

He must be making some sort of face, because Yamaguchi backtracks hurriedly. “Okay, not home. But where?”

And that’s how he goes to Yamaguchi’s apartment for the first time.

It takes a little while, because while they’re old enough to know how to use the trains, they don’t have very much practice with it; their hometown is pretty small, and you can get everywhere by walking or biking. But the stadium isn’t close by, and they either had to drive or take the train. So they used their allowance money to get onto the train, sitting close together in silence as the lights outside flickered by the window.

Yamaguchi looked like he wanted to take his hand, to touch him, but he’s quiet, eyes red and hands shaking slightly as he looks at his knees.

Distantly, Kei feels bad. It’s bad enough that he had to see this, but Yamaguchi too? When he’d come to his rescue all those years ago, he hadn’t wanted to ever see him cry like this again.

Once they get off the train, it’s still a bit of a walk to his apartment complex, and while it’s not exactly a scary place, it’s not nearly as nice as what Kei is used to. He knew, from their conversations, that Yamaguchi didn’t have a lot of money, but it was different to actually see it. Maybe because of the situation, though, his friend doesn’t look embarrassed as he leads the way up the stairs, pulling a key from his pocket and letting himself in.

“I’m home,” he says half-heartedly as the two of them toe off their shoes in the entryway.

“Tadashi?” a voice calls from within, sounding confused. “I thought you were staying the night at Tsukishi-”

She pokes her head around the corner, and is clearly shocked to see someone else standing there with her son. Kei’s immediate reaction is that she looks exactly like Yamaguchi; while a bit more tired in appearance than his own mother, she has kind brown eyes, a generous spray of freckles across her cheeks to match her son, and her hair is plaited back into a tight, neat braid that hangs down to her shoulder-blades.

Her voice is like snow in the sun, a crisp, glimmering white that sparkles with the slightest breath or word. It reminds him of cold cloths pressed to his too-warm forehead when he’s sick, and he likes her immediately.

“Sweetie, did something happen?” she asks, obvious distressed by the way Yamaguchi has very clearly been crying, but he shakes his head mutely.

“I’m Tsukishima Kei. Pardon the intrusion,” Kei says, remembering his manners and bowing politely to the very confused woman who is now standing in the hall properly.

“It’s no trouble. I’m happy to finally meet the boy Tadashi is always carrying on about. Thank you for always taking such good care of him,” she says, and even if she’s confused, there’s a kind of crushing fondness in her eyes that reminds him of his own mother, and part of him wants to just go over to her, to hide in her arms and see if it offers even a small amount of what his mother can offer.

“Of course,” he says simply. “He’s important to me.” It seems a natural thing to say, because Yamaguchi _is_ , so of _course_ he wants to make him part of his family, part of his life, and take care of him.

But his friend kind of looks like he wants to cry again, and he’s just so _tired_.

“I’ll show you my room,” Yamaguchi says, leading him past his mother and around the corner, down a short hallway to the room at the end.

It’s small, with the futon still laid out and mussed from the previous night. But it’s neat, for all that there isn’t much in it; his clothes aren’t lying strewn around the floor, and there’s a small bookshelf filled with literature and a few video games, the top decorated with plastic models of Gundam robots and sentai heroes.

“Are you staying the night?”

Kei looks away from the bookshelf to Yamaguchi, who’s hovering in the door, pale and unsure. “I can’t go home.”

The other doesn’t say anything, just nods and slips out of the room, probably to talk to his mom. Kei picks up a couple of the figures, moving the joints on the ones that he can pose, before eventually sitting on the futon. There’s a lump in the middle, and after pulling the comforter away, he can see that it’s a stuffed elephant, periwinkle and obviously well-loved.

Yamaguchi still slept with a stuffed animal. Cute.

Kei lays down, curled up on his side, holding the elephant in his arms as he looks at the wall. His glasses are pushing uncomfortably into the bridge of his nose, but he’s just. He’s exhausted, he wants to sleep for years and maybe never, ever get up.

Why had Akiteru lied to him? _Why_?

Eventually, Yamaguchi comes back, and he shakes his shoulder gently. “Tsukki, put on pajamas at least if you’re going to sleep.”

He just makes an unhappy noise, hiding his face in the elephant, and his friend sputters an embarrassed noise at the sight. Whatever. It’s not like he cares what Yamaguchi sleeps with, and he doesn't even feel like making a good-humored jab like he usually would.

“What’s it’s name?”

Yamaguchi groans, covering his face with his hands. “It’s a he. His name is Pachi.”

“He’s soft.”

“I’ve had him since I was a baby,” Yamaguchi says, standing and going to the closet, rummaging around in there for a bit before throwing a pile of something at him. “Pajamas, Tsukki.”

Grumbling, Kei releases Pachi, setting the elephant aside while he changes. His limbs feel heavy, like he’s moving through syrup, and while Yamaguchi’s clothes are a bit short on him, they’re clean and comfortable. He picks up Pachi again, unable to explain his compulsion to hold on to _something_ , when he lays down, pulling the comforter up until it almost covers his head.

There’s a sigh somewhere near his head, and Yamaguchi gets something else out of the closet before leaving the room. He isn’t gone for long, though, and he probably just went to get ready for bed properly, brush his teeth and wash his face and all that. It’s too early for them to be sleeping, but he slips under the comforter anyways, not even hesitating before pulling Kei into his arms.

And for a moment, he doesn’t feel anything. Just that stretching, yawning blankness that’s kept him on his feet and moving. It makes him feel cold, and when Yamaguchi rubs his hands against his upper arms briskly, he realizes he’s trembling.

Yamaguchi’s hands are so warm, and his breath smells minty, like toothpaste. The futon smells like him, obviously, but it’s still something he associates with safety, the clean linen smell and the faint undertone of lavender, like he uses the same soap as his mother to help save money.

It breaks something inside him, and his whole body spasms so hard he’s afraid he’s going to throw up, but instead, he just sobs, loud and unabashed and wrenching.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi croons, and it sounds so unspeakably sad that it yanks the second sob from him as his friend pulls him as close as he can, stroking his fingers through his hair.

And through his tears, through the explosive agony, he can see the moss green, the light filtering through the leaves, and he just wants to let it consume him. Intellectually, he knows that his friend has no idea how much comfort he finds in those colors, in his voice, because he still hasn’t told him, but Yamaguchi keeps talking, murmuring his name over and over as if in prayer.

It makes him miss the blankness, because the grief is so, so much worse. His mind is spinning, picking apart conversations, wondering why, _why_ Akiteru would lie to him like this. He doesn’t even care that he’s not a starter, that he’s not even on the bench. He just wanted to know the truth, to have been able to spend these past three years with his brother instead of acutely feeling his absence.

Did he really think his own brother cared so little about him? That Kei would just, what, be angry that he didn’t secure a good position on the team?

Anger, then. Anger, and bitterness, and that same crushing, awful grief.

He cried until he was hoarse, until his throat burned and his mouth was dry and his head felt like it was full of cotton, and Yamaguchi never once let him go, never once stopped carding his fingers through his hair and rubbing small, soothing circles against his back. He cried until there was nothing left inside him, and that yawning blankness was back, filling him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It felt like he was full of the night sky, big and black and terrifying, but he was too exhausted to care.

When he has nothing but sniffles left, his body limp and empty, Yamaguchi nudges their faces together, damp cheek pressing against damp cheek, noses sliding against each other. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers.

“It won’t,” Kei croaks, and his voice sounds like sandpaper, but he doesn’t. “It never will be.”

Yamaguchi murmurs wordlessly, soothingly, and Kei just hides his face against his neck, letting the motions of his hands and the rustle and sway of the sunlit trees lull him into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter, but I felt like this scene would stand best on it's own. Thank you so, so much for your continued support and kind words; it means the world to me, truly.
> 
> http://princessofmind.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you guys so much for all your kind words and continued support! I have a bit of a longer chapter for you now, so thank you for being patient! Additionally (and forgive me if I'm being presumptuous), but if anyone wants to show me anything they've drawn or even post their reactions, I've been tracking this story as #yvimfc on Tumblr (and I also track my own username, #princessofmind). I also link my personal Tumblr at the bottom of each chapter, and it really, truly makes my day to hear from you guys; I'm always up for answering questions or discussing things, so if you ever want to, don't hesitate!
> 
> And finally, this chapter does feature depression and anxiety, so if those are triggers, please take care of yourselves, friends.

It seems like every few hours Kei jolts awake, chest tight and the image of Akiteru’s stricken face lurking in his mind’s eye. But he’s _exhausted_ , and emotionally empty and wrung out, so he just settles back into Yamaguchi’s wordless, sleepy mutters of distress at his sudden movement and the distance between them. The arms around him are tight, almost claustrophobically so, but it’s warm, and above all _good_ , and he’s going to afford himself all the comforts he can at this point.

So when Yamaguchi’s mother eventually knocks on the door, her snowy voice calling to tell that that it’s time for school, his eyelids are sticky and his lips are cracked and dry. Yamaguchi grumbles, but slides out from under the comforter, moving in a sleepy daze out of the room and into the bathroom.

Kei just wants to go back to sleep.

When Yamaguchi comes back inside, he hesitates, like he’d forgotten about the other boy in his futon. “Are you going to go to school today, Tsukki?”

The way he pulls the blankets tighter around him should be answer enough, but he still says “no”, the word coming out all muffled and sore-sounding.

Yamaguchi hovers in the doorway, and Kei would bet a significant amount of money that he’s wringing his hands or chewing his cuticles. Eventually, he leaves, and if he listens hard enough, he can hear his friend and his mom speaking in the kitchen. It isn’t a very big apartment, and the walls are thin.

“He said he doesn’t want to go to school.”

“Well, we can’t make him go, dear. Let him stay in bed, I’ll check up on him before I go to work.”

“But-”

There’s a faint shushing noise. “Neither of us have any idea how he feels, or what he needs. For now, I think it’s safe to leave him alone and let him process. From what you told me, this must have been quite the blow.”

Part of him wants to be mad at Yamaguchi for telling his mom all about what had transpired, but he thinks it’s only fair that she know, since he’s kind of hiding out here and all. Does his mom even know where he is?

Pulling the blankets up over his head, he doesn’t move when Yamaguchi comes back inside, the rustle of clothes indicating that he’s changing out of his pajamas. He stops, bending over to pat the fabric over his head. “Feel better, Tsukki.”

He’s just wasting his breath, but Kei doesn’t say anything. Just lays there until the exhaustion pulls him back into another tentative, uneasy sleep. And this time, there are no lurking memories or flashes of unwanted faces; just darkness, and the taste of salt and ash on his tongue.

When someone sits on the futon, it jolts him awake, and he has a moment of vertigo where he can’t remember where he is and why he’s on the ground, his room has a _bed_ , but then it all comes roaring back like a strike of lightning, like a storm he thought he’d weathered out but only hits harder the second time around.

“I’m getting ready to leave for work,” Yamaguchi’s mom says, her voice soft like fat, early winter snowflakes. “I talked to your mother last night, to let her know you were with us. She was very worried when you boys weren’t waiting for her when she came to pick you up at the stadium. Do you think it might be a good idea to talk to her?”

It makes him feel sick, so he shakes his head.

“Well, I’ve left some food out for you, so try to at least eat lunch.”

That also makes him feel sick, so it’s probably not going to happen. He doesn’t say as much, though. She can probably guess as much, because she just sighs, smoothing her hair over his messy curls and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Sleep well, Tsukishima.”

The last thing he wants is that _name_ , for some reason, because it’s just more memories of his family, of his brother, of the fond neighborhood ladies calling them the “Tsukishima boys” when they would be out and about in the summer catching cicadas or drawing on the sidewalk with chalk.

“Kei. Call me Kei.” It’s only fair, since his own mother calls Yamaguchi by his given name.

“Kei, then,” she says, and it’s with the same gentleness only a mother seems to be able to possess when shaping his name with their lips. His cheeks are burning, and the futon feels stiflingly hot, but he doesn’t make any move to kick the comforter off until after she’s gone.

He isn’t sleepy any more, not really, but it doesn’t feel like he has the energy to do anything. There’s a glass of water sitting on the bookshelf, and he guzzles it quicker than he probably should before laying back down, Pachi held to his chest and his eyes listlessly on the window that looks out at a telephone pole and the wires attached to it.

The memory comes unbidden, of Akiteru staring across the court at him, of the door his body slammed into in the desperate attempt to flee, of Yamaguchi crying hard enough for both of them as he tried to decide where to go, what to _do_.

And even now, he doesn’t know what to do. All the exercises he’d done growing up, learning how to communicate his feelings of being overwhelmed, of being wrung dry by interaction with others and the constant assault of colors, did nothing to prepare him to deal with this kind of betrayal, with the sensation that he’d been scooped of all the vital feelings he used to have.

Deep, deep under the dark, placid lake of his emotions, there’s something twisting like a snake, coiled and angry and ready to strike at the slightest movement. But the lake is motionless, like his mind is trying to keep him from flying apart like he did last night, sobbing until he felt sick with it.

And there’s something else there too, something childlike that speaks of the yawning disappointment that seems ready to split him in two. He doesn’t know how many times he turns the question over in his head as he lies there, asking himself _why? why? why?_

He loves Akiteru more than that. He loves him so much, he’d never, ever lie to him. Especially not like this, not this long, not about something this important.

The snake lurches.

He hasn’t moved except to go to the bathroom when Yamaguchi comes home; for all intents and purposes, he’s in the exact same position he left him in. The food is sitting, untouched, on the kitchen table, and once again, the boy hesitates in the doorway.

“Tsukki? Are you awake?”

His voice is soft and unsure, and Kei finds it easier to ignore him and let him draw the conclusion for himself. It’s easier than trying to make the words happen, and he finds he just doesn’t have the energy to spare. Just being _awake_ is eating up all his energy, and he’s hungry but the mere thought of food makes his stomach roil. It would probably just taste like dirt in his mouth, anyways.

So when he hears no response, Yamaguchi carefully sets his bag down by the door and leaves, keeping the door cracked so he can (presumably) keep an eye on him.

He must slip in and out of sleep, because everything after that is kind of fuzzy and unfocused, a kaleidoscope of snow covered tree branches and the smell of cooking meat. Eventually, Yamaguchi slips back into the futon with him, curled up against his back and reaching across his body, leaving his arm draped over his waist, to lace their fingers together. It’s different from how they slept yesterday, but he can feel Yamaguchi’s breath against the back of his neck, and it’s soothing, familiar in a way he’s starting to grow frighteningly attached to, and the presence of a warm body against him actually helps keep some of the nightmares at bay this time.

The next day is more of the same. So is the day after that.

He hasn’t eaten anything still, even though his stomach _hurts_ , and the only reason he’s hydrated enough is because Yamaguchi and his mother keep leaving fresh glasses of water in the room whenever he’s asleep. It shouldn’t be possible for him to sleep this much and still be so tired, but his whole body feels sluggish, and when he isn’t empty and hollow, he’s sick with anger or fighting down tears of grief and fear.

It feels pitiful, that he’s so upset. It just gives him something else to hyper-focus on, and on the evening of his third night at the Yamaguchi household, he hears his friend crying in the kitchen.

“Mama, what’s wrong with him?” his friend asks, sounding choked with worry. “He won’t talk to me, and he won’t get out of bed, he won’t...he won’t eat-”

She makes a soothing noise, and Yamaguchi cuts himself off, going silent like he’s just been pulled into her arms. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy. I need you to listen to me, okay?” There’s a moment of silence, and Yamaguchi must nod, because she continues to speak. “Kei is depressed. You, even more than me, understand what’s happened to him, what he must be feeling right now, and this isn’t something you just get better from, like a cold or a fever.”

“How long is it going to take?”

She’s quiet, and Kei wonders if she’s stroking Yamaguchi’s hair, like his mother does for him. “It might be tomorrow, it might be years from now. There’s nothing anyone can do about that. But what you _can_ do is be strong for him, and support him in whatever way you can that lets _you_ stay safe and happy as well.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Yamaguchi says, sounding displeased.

“You will,” she replies. “You bring so much love and happiness just by being in our lives that if you keep being yourself, it’ll help.”

Kei has his doubts, but there’s no denying how much of a grounding force the moss green has been so far.

 _Depressed_?

Like Yamaguchi, he isn’t sure what that means. It’s one of those words like _synesthesia_ or _chromesthesia_ , the kind adults like to use to describe horrible, complicated things like his colors. The thought of having something else on top of that is so horrifying, he cries himself to sleep, Yamaguchi rubbing little circles against his back as he holds him close.

On the fourth day, Yamaguchi’s mother comes in a couple hours after her son left for school, opening the door crisply. “Kei, we need to get groceries.”

That sounds like the _worst_ , and he just shakes his head in response.

“Aww, please?” she wheedles, sitting on the futon next to him. “Today is my day off, but Tadashi is at school, and I do hate going by myself. I could use a strapping young man to carry my bags for me.”

There’s nothing _strapping_ about him right now. He hasn’t eaten in three days and his head spins every time he sits up too fast.

But. It’s her day off. And he remembers Yamaguchi telling him that his mom works two jobs, works to have enough money to make ends meet and put some of it away for his college. She sees her son very rarely, and she’s never met any of his friends; what a good impression he’s making. He heaves a sigh, and she’s clearly delighted, hurrying out of the room so he can change.

He hasn’t bathed, and his hair is all gross and matted, but he can’t find it in him to care. Putting on his clothes from the day of the tournament and placing his glasses on his face, he shuffles out into the hall where she’s waiting, her purse over her shoulder and a smile on her face. Her hair is plaited back in the same neat braid, he wonders if she does it herself, or if Yamaguchi helps.

“It’s a really nice day today,” she says, and the crispness of her voice makes him feel a bit less fuzzy around the edges, like splashing handfuls of water onto his face. “It’s still cool, but the sun is out, so it helps even the temperature out.”

When the door opens, he’s momentarily blinded by the sun; sure, Yamaguchi’s room had windows, but it was different to be walking out into it. It leaves him squinting, following behind her with his hands shoved in his pockets. The store isn’t far, and she chatters about inane things like her job, what she and Yamaguchi had the night before for dinner, and so on.

He follows her inside the store, and is momentarily struck dumb with how _good_ the food looks. There isn’t even anything overtly tantalizing (they keep all the bentos towards the back of the store), but it’s enough to make his stomach grumble loudly, loudly enough for Yamaguchi’s mother to hear.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says, picking up a basket for herself and handing a second one to Kei. “I haven’t thought about what I want to make for dinner, so why don’t you pick something out? I don’t have time to cook much, but I’ve been told that I’m _very_ good at it.”

The little part of him that reminded him about how much she works helpfully reminds him that there’s a reason why his own mother makes so much extra food in his lunch, and why Yamaguchi always wears threadbare hand-me-downs. It makes his face flush scarlet, because he’s imposed _so much_ already.

What does he like that’s relatively cheap?

Usually, he loves pork cutlets or croquettes, but those take time, and meat is expensive. There are other things that are cheaper, but they might take too long to make, or he’s already attached to the way his mom makes them, a smile in her eyes and she stirs and chops and hands him a small, round dish to taste the sauce.

“Udon?”

He just nods, handing her the basket of ingredients, because he has at least a basic understanding of what goes into it. It’s warm, hearty, and might actually penetrate some of the chill that seems to have settled permanently in his bones despite the uncharacteristically nice day this time of year.

She smiles and says nothing, just takes the contents of his basket and adds them to hers, leading them around to grab a few other things before moving on to pay. With their bags in hand, they make the way back towards the apartment, and Kei notices distantly that it’s a different way than they came. But it takes them through a small park, sunlight filtering through the bare tree branches, and it feels good against his face, on his skin and in his hair. The fresh air settles welcomingly in his lungs, and he feels a little more human by the time they reach the apartment.

Immediately upon going inside, she presents him with a bundle of clothes in exchange for his glasses, and he obediently goes off to the bathroom to shower. It’s been long enough since his last bath that he’s disgusted by how gross he feels, how his shirt feels grimy with sweat and tears. Tossing the clothes in a pile in the corner, he turns the shower as hot as it can go, having to wash his hair twice before it curls like it’s supposed to instead of staying matted to his head. He scrubs his body and face with a single-minded purpose, and his fingers are all pruny by the time he finally gets out, feeling cleaner than he ever has.

The neatly folded bundle of clothes even has a pair of underwear in it, and while it’s a bit embarrassing to wear Yamaguchi’s _underwear_ , it’s a hell of a lot cleaner than what he was wearing before. So he pulls on the thick socks, the pajama pants and the sweatshirt, the curls at the nape of his neck still a bit damp when he finally comes out. He finds his glasses, washed and polished, sitting on the kitchen table, and beyond the door leading to the small balcony, he can see Yamaguchi’s mother airing out the futon and comforter.

The chasm inside him is still there, broken and jagged and waiting for him to fall back inside, but...he feels like he took a step back from it, away from the proverbial lake and the snake that twists underneath it. It lets him sit at the table, watching Yamaguchi’s mother when she comes back inside, flashing him a smile as she puts away the groceries and starts preparing the ingredients for the udon.

Time is still a bit of a slippery thing, and he finds himself slipping in and out of what’s happening, but he’s pulled back rather abruptly when the front door opens and Yamaguchi calls out, “I’m home!”.

“We’re in the kitchen!” his mother replies, and there’s the sound of a scuffle as Yamaguchi clearly tries to get his shoes off faster than usual, followed immediately by the sound of Yamaguchi slipping on his socked feet into the wall in the hall. He practically bounds around the corner into the kitchen, his brown eyes wide with something hopeful lurking in their depths.

“You’re out of bed,” he says all in a rush, and Kei’s face is so hot it hurts.

“Don’t draw attention to it or I’ll go back,” he grumbles.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi laughs, but the green in his voice is so bright it’s overwhelming to the point of leaving him breathless, and it eclipses all the awful things roiling around in his head and heart for a precious moment.

The three of them eat dinner together, slurping noodles and stealing vegetables from one another and, in Yamaguchi and his mother’s cases at least, laughing about it the whole time. Everything tastes so much better than he remembers, the udon feeling perfectly cooked under his teeth, the bite of the green onion and the mushrooms adding just a little extra richness to the broth. Even if he can’t bring himself to join in, hearing the two of them talk and laugh buoys his own spirits, makes him feel like he’s back in those days at his house that feel further away than ever before.

“I’ll go back to school tomorrow,” he says when there’s nothing but broth left in his bowl. “I’m. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yamaguchi says, lips stretching in a smile so wide it must hurt his cheeks. “It’s just good to see you up and about again!”

“Tadashi is right,” his mother agrees, and her smile is softer, but no less bright. “I’m sorry for the circumstances, but it was good to meet you, Kei. My home is always open to you, if you need it.”

It’s hard to swallow past the lump in his throat, but they’ve been so good to him when they didn’t even have to be; she could have called his mother and demanded she come retrieve her wayward son, or Yamaguchi could have gotten sick of him acting like a slug and told him to get out. Instead, they’ve given him this...this gift, that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to repay.

“Thank you,” he says eventually, when he feels that he’s gotten ahold of himself. “Thank you so much.”

That night, he sits on the couch with Yamaguchi and watches Doraemon, even though it’s not his favorite, while they eat ice cream that had been purchased earlier at the store. His friend only leaves long enough for a quick shower before coming back, curled up against his side as they watch the images flickering across the screen. Even if it isn’t much, it feels good to do something other than lay in bed and cry.

When the futon has been brought back inside and set up properly, he and Yamaguchi fall asleep facing each other again, and even if there’s enough space between them that the other boy can’t wrap his arms around him, their hands are still linked on the pillow between them, close enough to Kei’s face that he can see the pale, almost invisible freckles on his fingers and fading into his knuckles.

Despite the progress of the previous day and his resolve, getting up in the morning is _hard_. His head feels stuffed with cotton, and the thought of having to leave this tiny apartment, of having to face his peers and his teacher, while acting like nothing happened....it makes him feel a little nauseous, to say the least. But Yamaguchi’s mother is up, setting toast and eggs on the table and smiling at the boys when they stumble blearily into the kitchen.

“I told you that you should have gone to bed earlier last night,” she chides gently, and while Yamaguchi pouts in response, Kei is pretty positive that this is going to just be a thing with him for a while. Even when he was sleeping sixteen-something hours, he was exhausted, and that hasn’t changed despite the fact that he’s actually trying to be a functioning human being now.

They eat mostly in silence, and Kei borrows another outfit from Yamaguchi before they head out. It’s chilly, and even though Yamaguchi insisted on giving him his good coat to use, his fingers are numb by the time they’re entering the building, switching their shoes and making their way up the stairs.

“Tsukishima! It’s good to see you. Finally fought off that cold, eh?” their teacher says, her silver and periwinkle voice twinkling as she smiles at the pair of them.

He’s glad that he’s empty enough to have such an impressive poker face, because he has no idea what she’s talking about. He just nods, continuing on his way down the hall, Yamaguchi right at his side.

“Is that what you told them? That I was sick?”

Yamaguchi is pulling on the sleeve of his sweater, undoubtedly stretching out. “It...it feels like you were,” he said in a small voice, eventually gathering his courage to look up at him. “A-and it’s not like I was going to blab about what happened!”

“I never said I thought you would,” Kei says, sounding a bit defensive, because he’d never once assumed that Yamaguchi would just out his pain for the world to see. But he also knew his friend was a terrible liar, and would rather give half truths and avoid the subject than lie. Then again, given how he’d been bedridden for three days and took a fourth one before he came back to school, maybe he _was_ sick.

He’s started walking again, but Yamaguchi catches him by the elbow, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally speaks. “I’m sorry. I won’t doubt you again.”

It makes his stomach twist, and he realizes belatedly his face hasn’t moved almost at all during this entire conversation, and the only thing his friend has to go on is his intonation. It probably makes it seem like he's angry, and he just wants to go back to bed and sleep for weeks.

“I haven’t exactly done anything to inspire your confidence lately,” he says, a bit sourly. “And I don’t care what you say to everyone else, but just. Don’t lie to me. Ever. I don’t care if it’s mean, or hurts me, or what. Just _don’t lie_.”

Yamaguchi is very nearly balking, but he hasn’t let go of his elbow, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that looks a little too much like tears. “I promise. I promise, Tsukki, I won’t _ever_ lie to you.”

“Good,” Kei says curtly. “And don’t cry, we’ve both done enough of that this week.”

Sniffling traitorously, Yamaguchi nods, scrubbing at his face with the sleeves of his sweater before he turns his attention back to Kei, looking determined. Like he’s putting on a brave face for both of them, and while he’s glad that his friend isn’t crying, he feels...a little bad, for making him mask his emotions. He’s just so _tired_ , and if Yamaguchi starts to cry, he’ll wind up bawling his eyes out as well.

As he sits in class, the teacher’s voice a hazy, silver-colored smear somewhere in the back of his mind that’s easy enough to ignore, he can feel the empty feeling in him start to drain away, like someone’s pulled the plug on the bottom of a bathtub. And the sick feeling in his stomach, the exhaustion and sadness and betrayal melts to something else. Something harder, something that tastes like metal in the back of his throat that makes his skin feel too tight and hot.

His mother picks him up from Yamaguchi’s house after school (he needed to go back to get his things), and he can hear the two mothers talking quietly while he and Yamaguchi shove his belongings into his backpack.

“You can always come here if you need to get away from home,” Yamaguchi says quietly, leaning against the door with his eyes on the window. “I...I know it’s not as nice as your house, but.”

“I don’t care what it looks like, as long as you’re in it.”

His voice is blunt, but it still makes Yamaguchi sputter and blush an impressive shade of red for someone who’s spent half of the last five nights _spooning_ him. But the embarrassment melts quickly enough into something bright and happy, and that makes Kei blush in turn, swinging his bag onto his back and making his way out into the hallway.

The chatter stops abruptly, and it makes him frown, because could it be any more obvious that they were talking about him? But Yamaguchi’s mom smiles, and it distracts him, overwhelming him again with the sheer size of the debt he owes her and the boy standing happily at her side.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he mumbles, bowing deeply. “And I’m sorry for the inconvenience it caused.”

“No inconvenience at all,” she says, patting the top of his head to get him to straighten up. “Any friend of Tadashi’s is family, as far as I’m concerned. You’re always welcome, and take care of yourself.”

That’s probably easier said than done, because he still hasn’t been able to make himself look at his own mother’s face. But he nods, and doesn’t color at all when the woman bends down to kiss him on the forehead before he walks out the door, taking the stairs behind his mother down to the street, his stomach clenching so hard he’s worried about losing his lunch all over the inside of the car.

She’s quiet, eerily so, and when he glances over, he can see that her face is pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes, and she’s very obviously been crying, and crying a lot.

He looks out the window, digs his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from screaming, from hitting the dashboard or opening the door and just getting out of the moving vehicle.

“Did you know?”

The sound of his voice makes her almost slam on the breaks, her breathing hitching, and no, _no_ , she _can’t_ cry-

“No, I never...Akiteru never said anything to me. But I suspected.” And her voice is a lot steadier than he’d expected, and the pink in her voice makes him want to gag on the saccharine sweetness of the color.

“You suspected,” he repeated, his lips quirked up at the corners in a sneer he usually reserves for his classmates. “And you, what, didn’t think I deserved to know? That he was lying to me for the past three years?”

“I suspected, which means I wasn’t sure,” she says, meekly. “I wasn’t about to cause tension between you two over a hunch-”

“Well, guess what? There’s a lot more than tension between us now, and there has been for a long time now even before all this. But at least it can’t get any worse now, right?”

Her lip trembles dangerously, and he just slouches more in his seat, watching the houses and trees and vending machines pass them as they maneuver through the outskirts of town until they get to the house. It’s still early enough that his father isn’t home yet, and he’s kind of glad for it; the last thing he needs, on top of the day he’s just had, is to get railed out for his irresponsible behavior and running away from home for four days.

But he can’t just....just pretend like this didn’t happen. He _hurts_ , he hurts like a freely bleeding wound, and he’s worried that he’s going to go catatonic again at the thought of entering this house.

Gritting his teeth, he shoulders through the front door, toeing off his shoes and immediately going up to his room. Tossing his backpack aside, he digs under the bed until his hands close around the cardboard box that got tossed under there at some point over the past few years. Opening it confirms that it’s mostly empty, save for the colored pencils and paper that feel like they belonged to a different person.

Going back down the stairs, he sees his mother sitting in the kitchen, looking lost and vulnerable and small, but he doesn’t care. The metallic taste is stronger in the back of his mouth now, and he doesn’t say a word to her as he goes to the front door, tugging down the white board and all the magnets, tossing them into the box. Next are his volleyball kneepads, which were hand-me-downs from his brother, and he pulls the MP3 player from his pocket and drops it in there as well for good measure.

He goes into the kitchen itself, next, pulling magnets off one by one and dropping the drawings he’d made into the box, the crags of ice blue and fluffs of pink and swirls of clementines disappearing into shadow.

There’s the sound of a door opening, of someone taking their shoes off and walking into the kitchen, and Kei doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is.

Akiteru is looking at him with the same look on his face that he’d worn that day at the volleyball court, stricken and pained and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t _care_. Just looks at his brother with such ice in his gaze that it makes the older boy flinch, and he turns and walks away when Kei purposefully drops another picture into the box.

“Kei...” his mother says, sounding pleading, but anything else she might have said is cut off as the whole house shakes, something hitting the floor above them hard enough to make the dishes rattle in the cupboard. Her mouth opens, fingertips pressed to her lips in horror, and Kei can’t deal with this, he can’t.

He stomps up the stairs, box in hand, and hears something shatter, and Akiteru left the door open, it only takes a glance to assess the damage, the way he’s overturned his desk and scattered papers everywhere, one of the trophies from his middle school volleyball team in pieces next to the wall. Sitting in the floor, knees pulled to his chest and his arms curled around his head, he’s shaking like his bones are trying to come apart, and Kei feels...

Nothing. He feels nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://princessofmind.tumblr.com/


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for the lengthy time between this update and the last one! I recently started a new job that's been eating up all my time, but I think I've finally settled into the routine, so I should return to being able to update more frequently once more. This chapter and the next one are going to be relatively short, as they cover the time between elementary school and middle school (this chapter) and middle school (next chapter) in a sort of transitional way. After that, it's on to Karasuno! Thank you so much for your patience and kind words and reviews, they really do mean the world to me. And with that, I'll send you on your way!

There’s a famous saying by an American author, something like “and this is how it ends; not with a bang, but with a whimper”. It’s a little more poetic than Kei feels, but it fairly summarizes the end of this chapter of his life. His last days in elementary school are a blur of class trips and projects and time spent hiding out at Yamaguchi’s house, trying desperately not to think but also trying not to _stop_ , because if he stops, he feels like he’ll never move again.

They were both accepted into Amemaru Middle School, and it only fills him with a sense of dread where it once made him practically vibrate with joy. Seeing their names on the list only makes him want to throw up, and Yamaguchi grips his hand tightly as they stand in front of the sign board, not saying anything. It was the only school they applied to, and it’s too late to change their minds; even if they could, Kei isn’t okay with jeopardizing Yamaguchi’s future and what he wants (what he knows his friend still wants despite himself) just because he hasn’t spoken a single word to his brother since that day at the tournament.

It’s been pretty easy to not see him, since they’re actively avoiding each other now. Akiteru is never home, and when he is, it’s easy enough to catch flashes of dull gold and rotten clementines to show him what rooms to avoid.

“You should talk to him,” his mother says at dinner one night, her voice soft and tremulous and unsure. “He’s going to be leaving soon, and-”

“Good,” Kei says without looking up from his rice, voice frigid. “The sooner he leaves, the better.”

“Don’t interrupt your mother,” his father scolds, eyebrows drawn down in a furrow. “And don’t talk about your brother like that.”

“Fine.”

So he starts avoiding his parents, too. In the past, he’d been able to talk to his mother about anything, and his father was nothing less than completely supportive. But they’re tired and drawn now, worn thin by the tension, and all they want is for their children to get along. It’s like the depth of the betrayal doesn’t even register to them, and it makes Kei want to yell and throw things, because why don’t they _get it_? Why are they treating this like nothing more than an inconvenience?

He hates it. He hates them. All of them.

The only person he doesn’t hate is Yamaguchi, and if the two of them were inseparable before, it’s even more so now. Kei follows him everywhere at school, even to the bathroom, and they never go home separately, opting to stay behind if one of them has business to meet with their teacher after class or going together if someone has errands to run.

They spend most of their time at Yamaguchi’s house, because while the chances are slim to none, he isn’t about to risk the pair of them running into Akiteru or having his mother try to convince his friend to get Kei to just talk to his brother. Contrary to what Yamaguchi might believe, he doesn’t have an issue with the apartment itself; he just misses his _home_ sometimes, being able to curl up and read in his bed or the familiar sight of his dinosaur figurines on his shelf.

So to try and assuage some of that, he brings his compsognathus figures to join Yamaguchi’s Gundam models and keeps a few changes of clothing stashed at the bottom of his dresser. It’s nice to have something to change into when they get home from school, and his friend starts keeping his futon out all the time so Kei has somewhere to lay down and nap.

His energy levels are still hilariously low, and while he can stay awake during class, he almost always crashes for an hour or two when he gets to Yamaguchi’s apartment. He doesn’t say anything about it, though; just makes sure Kei is situated and comfortable before sitting on the futon next to him to read or settling at his desk to start on his homework.

It’s not nice, he doesn’t think anything in his life right now is _nice_ , but it’s not terrible. It doesn’t grate against his soul and make him feel raw and empty, so he’ll grasp it with selfish fingers and not let go.

Graduation is a blur, and friends are embracing and talking excitedly about plans all around him, but he doesn’t care about any of his classmates. The only one who matters is standing next to him, holding onto the sleeve of his shirt and chewing on his lip, a strange sort of detached melancholy on his face.

Kei is glad that he doesn’t have any other friends; he’s always been shy, and difficult to get along with. The colors don’t help at all, and he’s more than happy to just have Yamaguchi at his side with the forrest green of his voice and his sunny smile. But the thought of _him_ being the only person Yamaguchi has makes his stomach cramp, a lot more than it used to before everything happened.

“I’m sorry I’m your only friend,” he says, voice tight like someone has their hand pressing into his neck, closing his throat off slowly but surely.

Yamaguchi looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set in a tight line. “Why? I’m really, really happy that you’re my friend, Tsukki.”

_Because I’m mean, and I can’t do anything fun anymore. Because I know that people avoid me and don’t like me, and the fact that you’re always with me means that they’ll avoid you too. I just want you to be happy, and I don’t think I’m someone who can do that anymore._

But the words stick to his tongue like glue, and his gaze drops to his shoes as he shakes his head mutely. Yamaguchi just sighs, dropping his grip from the sleeve of his shirt to lace their fingers together.

“Nothing has changed,” he says firmly, “and I’ll kick you if you say anything like that again.”

It makes him choke on a laugh, lips pulled into the smirk that’s the closest to smiling as he can get these days. “You know you’d lose if we got into a fight, stupid.”

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he laughs, and the words that should be an apology never really ring like it. They feel more like a soft reassurance, like the warm fingers that grip his own, that no matter how much Kei feels like he needs to deflect and shield himself away, Yamaguchi isn’t going anywhere.

The summer is remarkably bland compared to the one prior, when he knew something was wrong but not what it was. There are no practice matches, no jumping and serving and diving with the other boys in the neighborhood. Sometimes Yamaguchi can drag him out to work on their recieves or spikes in the park near his house, but it’s not often. The wound is still too fresh, sinks into his veins like poison until he can’t even lift his arms at the end.

He hates it. He hates what this thing he used to love got twisted into, because he just doesn’t see the _point_. All he can see in himself is the way his brother moves, the way his sharp eyes watched the court and the way he taught Kei to carry himself, light on his feet, using his long limbs to his advantage to help balance himself when he has to change directions abruptly. It’s wrenching and wrong, and if someone like Akiteru spent three years on the bench, what’s even the point of trying?

He doesn’t know how to be anything but Akiteru, and for all that he’d never, ever look down on him for it, his brother still failed. And if failing is something so awful that you’d lie to the person you love most in the world for three years, then he probably shouldn’t even try. You can’t fail if you don’t try, right?

Through eavesdropping on his parents, he finds out that his brother got accepted into a university the next prefectures over; close enough that he could come visit if he wanted to, but far enough away that his almost guaranteed refusal to come home is reasonable as well.

That suits Kei just fine. He doesn’t want to see him.

On the day he leaves, Kei doesn’t even get out of bed. He’s curled up on his side, facing the wall, headphones firmly on his ears to block out the commotion of boxes moving and voices calling to one another. More than anything, he wishes he could fall back asleep, but he’s not totally sure if he even slept in the first place. It was the kind of sleep that came slowly, so slowly that he feels just as exhausted as he did when he laid down the night before.

There’s a small, tiny part of him that wants to go downstairs and see what’s going on, to maybe get one last look at his brother before he slips through his fingers.

But Akiteru hasn’t been trying, either, and he can’t decide if he’s glad or unhappy. Because it’s good that his brother is respecting his boundaries, isn’t pushing him when he’s clearly still hurting. On the other hand, he hasn’t tried to make contact with him at all, to apologize or explain or anything. They haven’t spoken a single word since they saw each other at the tournament, and Kei bitterly thinks that Akiteru has long since decided that he isn’t worth the effort.

He can’t hear the stairs creaking, but the knock on the door manages to penetrate the music he has turned as loud as he can stand. It’s probably his mother, and if he has to look at her grief stricken face and sad eyes today, he’s going to lose it. So he squeezes his eyes shut and pulls the blankets up over his head, chewing his lip until he can taste blood.

“Kei?”

The sound of his mother’s voice is muffled, drowned out by the heavy beats of his music, but the last thing he wants to do is turn it down to hear her properly.

“We’re leaving now. Do you...want to say goodbye to your brother?”

It’s hard to breathe under the blankets, and he’s probably hyperventilating due to the fact he can’t get enough oxygen, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t _care_ , he just wants her to go. And after a tense few moments, he can hear the door close, undoubtedly followed by her footsteps on the stairs.

Time slips on like sludge, moving slower than it should and making him feel like he’s about to start tearing at his hair, but he’d rather lay in bed and be miserable than risk going downstairs before they left. It would be just his luck to have them come back because of a forgotten box or misplaced cell phone, so he bides his time until he feels like he’s about to explode, kicking off the blankets and pulling his headphones off so roughly it dislodges his glasses in the process.

It’s quiet. There’s no lingering worry about his family lingering around corners, their colors an unpleasant whisper clinging to the walls and ceiling. For probably the first time in his life, he’s alone.

Setting his CD player aside (he’s had to resort to using an old, beat-up thing after he got rid of Akiteru’s old MP3 player back when he first returned home), he moves carefully from his room down the stairs to the kitchen. There’s nothing missing there, but the game system that used to sit under the television in the living room is gone, along with a couple of the family photos that once decorated the end table next to the sofa.

There’s a bit of displaced dust at the front of the arrangement of photos, and a quick look confirms that one of the last family photos they took is gone. It was from one of their hiking trips, taken by a fellow tourist at the top of the mountain, Kei sitting on Akiteru’s shoulders, both of them wearing matching grins. Their parents are on either side of them, his mother throwing her arm around Akiteru’s waist while his father holds his hand against Kei’s back to steady him; they’re smiling too.

It’s a good picture of all four of them.

His throat hurts.

Someone raps on the door, and it startles him so badly he actually jumps, whirling around like he got caught doing something bad. His family members all have keys, and could let themselves in if they forgot something; that means it could only be one person.

Kei had mentioned to Yamaguchi in passing that his brother would be leaving today, so of course he hadn’t needed to be invited; he was standing on the front step, his expression soft but somehow sad in a way it never used to be.

“Mom sent cake with me,” he says in lieu of a greeting, holding up the small paper bag in his hand. “I think she knows you could use it today.”

When did Yamaguchi’s mother become the one who took care of them like this? He’s thankful that she’s such a wonderful person, but he also selfishly misses having it be _his_ mother.

“She didn’t have to,” he mumbles, stepping aside so Yamaguchi can take his shoes off and come into the house properly.

“I know! I told her that you’d fuss at me, but she didn’t care. Clearly she thinks I can handle it,” he sounds a bit proud when he says this, shooting Kei a cheeky grin that makes the skin around his eyes wrinkle and shines the sun through the leaves in his voice.

“You’ve had like, three years of practice?” Putting a date on their friendship is...weird, because it feels like they’ve known each other all their lives at this point.

“Three sounds right,” Yamaguchi says, going into the kitchen to deposit the cake in the fridge. Pushing a container of leftover stew out of the way, he fidgets with the bag for a moment before turning his attention back to Kei. “Um, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something, but I keep putting it off.”

The very firm honesty rule has been a bit tricky for them to navigate; trickier than they thought. Yamaguchi admitted that he didn’t know if saying “I’m fine” when he was peeved or unhappy counted as a lie, and Kei didn’t want to abuse the power he suddenly found himself with because Yamaguchi didn’t like to make a big deal about things. It meant he got very, very good at parsing his friend’s emotions without having to ask, and when he _did_ ask, he made sure it was about the important things.

This was an example of that; he knew that something was bothering Yamaguchi, but he could also tell that he wasn’t ready to talk about it. If asked, he’d either be forced to lie or give voice to something he might have finished coming to a conclusion about.

“You can ask now,” Kei says, leaning against the wall facing the fridge.

“Do you still want to join the volleyball club when we start school?”

It doesn’t sucker punch him in the gut like he was expecting, because the question is one that’s been a long time coming. Part of him was afraid that Yamaguchi would never ask or bring it up, and would just sit quietly at his side and never set foot on the court again.

“That depends. Do _you_ want to join?”

Because his own feelings and grief be damned, Kei could never forget how much Yamaguchi loves volleyball. He was the first person to attack the sport with as much unabashed passion as he did, who trained with his brother and still somehow managed to keep himself in all the moves he learned.

And all of that love was clear on his face in the way he dropped his eyes and bit his lip. “I...” Clearing his throat, he squared his shoulders, looking across the kitchen at Kei with something suspiciously moist in his eyes that softens the determination on his face. “I do.”

“Well, then,” Kei says, pushing off the wall and making a distracted motion to show Yamaguchi that he should follow him. “There you go. I’ll join.”

“Really?” Yamaguchi says, his voice stunned, like he was expecting a fight. “ _Really_?”

“I’m not making any promises,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and casting his gaze somewhere around the top of Yamaguchi’s head (his growth spurt has started in earnest, and his friend still hasn’t grown an inch). “I don’t know what it’s going to be like for me, and I’m not going to throw myself at it, but. I made you a promise, and I don’t break my promises.”

_Even if other people do_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://princessofmind.tumblr.com/


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the tags that have been added in the wake of this chapter, and as always, I can't thank you enough for all the positive reviews, kind words, and support. It helps keep me motivated, and it means the world to me.

“Tsukishima Kei. You’re Akiteru’s younger brother, aren’t you?”

It’s warm in the gymnasium, just shy of being uncomfortable, but Kei is very glad that he chose to wore a long-sleeved shirt anyways. The newcomers are standing in a line, side by side, as the coach goes over their club application forms, and he hadn’t so much as made a peep until he came to Kei’s. Now he’s standing in front of him, a contemplative look on his face. His voice is like pepper, black and grey with an undertone of deep crimson.

“Yes sir.”

The man hums, looking him up and down. “He was a good captain. Shame he couldn’t keep up the pace at Karasuno.”

Yamaguchi goes tense next to him, and Kei grinds his teeth so hard he can hear it.

“Are you a wing spiker like him?”

Yes, he is. Kei never wanted to be anything less than exactly what his brother was, so he’d always dreamed about playing the same position as him. He didn’t quite have the speed for it, but his jump height was impressive, and he was a quick thinker on his feet. But now, he wants nothing more than to get as far from Akiteru as possible, so he shakes his head mutely.

“I guess you’re a little tall for a wing spiker. You’d make a better middle blocker.”

And that settles that. Kei certainly is much taller than most of the other boys on the team, and his growth spurt doesn’t show any sign of slowing down.

For some reason, he’d never really thought that growing would be _uncomfortable_ , but it actually is, to the point of being painful sometimes. He’d been shooting up like a weed at the end of elementary school, but it’s like his body hit the limit of what was normal for a boy his age and just kept going, and the growing pains were awful. His legs ached, and he had stretch marks running like stripes over his hips and on his back.

Yamaguchi, who still had yet to hit his growth spurt, did what he could to help. It was the sort of thing Akiteru probably had more experience with, but since he wasn’t there, his friend did the best he could with what he had.

“It’s supposed to help,” Yamaguchi said, sitting cross-legged while Kei eyed him wearily. “I asked mom about it, and this was what she got at the store. Athletes use this stuff too, when they like, pull a muscle or something.”

His friend is holding some sort of tube of lotion, and the label looks familiar, like something he’s seen in the medicine cabinet at home. Probably Akiteru’s. With a sigh, he sets his glasses aside and strips off his shirt, his stomach doing the same uncomfortable cramp it always seems to do when Yamaguchi sees him shirtless these days.

“Do they hurt?” his friend asks, the tip of his index finger nudging at one of the angry red slashes at his midsection.

“Not really,” Kei mumbles, and Yamaguchi hums in acknowledgement as he clicks open the cap of the tube. “Mostly they just look ugly.”

The hands that touch him are cold, making Kei hiss unhappily at the contact. “Sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi chirps, absentmindedly. “I don’t think they’re ugly. I mean, you’re growing a little fast for your skin to keep up with. But like, you’re _really tall_. And that’s cool. So it’s like...a badge of honor, maybe?”

They don’t really feel like a badge of honor, and Kei doesn’t really see what’s so cool about being “really tall”, but the reassurance eases some of the anxiety in his stomach.

“Ah, my hands are getting all warm!” Yamaguchi says, and Kei can feel the lotion getting hot against his back too, and even though it’s a new, odd sensation, there’s no denying how nice it feels, easing the ache in his muscles and bones.

His friend insists on putting some on his legs too before they settle in, and he laughs over the fact that his hands are still all warm and tingly even after he goes to the bathroom to wash the excess off. Kei doesn’t even bother replying; he’s sprawled out on the futon, in absolute bliss.

“You smell like a giant, cranky peppermint,” Yamaguchi says, flopping on the futon and arranging himself so he can rest his head on Kei’s stomach and still read his English textbook.

“I’m the opposite of cranky right now. I’m a very, very happy peppermint.”

Yamaguchi beams, nuzzling against his stomach briefly. “Well, luckily, I like the smell of peppermint. You should get some to keep at home, too.”

Kei hums distractedly, his gaze on the ceiling. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” Sunshine through the trees colors Yamaguchi’s voice, and if Kei smiles up at the ceiling, no one is there to judge him or see.

But not everything about middle school was that easy to figure out. Some of the problems were the same, like having to re-learn how to navigate through the swirls of color that involved entirely new groups of people. Middle school lacked the sheer volume of his elementary school, but there were subtleties to the voices now that he didn’t like; a lot more jealous green and ashy grey tinging conversations, and a lot more weighted stares and giggles to go with them.

People judged him a lot in elementary school, and steered clear of him; he had a reputation of being a weird kid, quiet but quick to anger when pushed, and it made for relatively smooth sailing. Everything was easier when people knew to just leave him alone, when he’d been in the older groups of children and didn’t really have any upperclassmen to answer to. That sort of thing wasn’t important in elementary school.

It was important here, though. There were all sorts of social hierarchies and cliques that he had to parse, and he hated it with a passion. Girls formed clusters outside the bathroom, and when a lone female student walked by, her hair perhaps a little old fashioned or her glasses too big for her face, they would giggle and titter behind their hands. Boys were more vocal, jeering at other boys who looked like Kei but were smaller and looked less caustic.

He stuck to Yamaguchi like fucking glue, because he’d shoulder the brunt of all of this if it meant his friend could escape relatively unscathed.

So maybe it was funny, that they ended up attracting attention together instead of separately.

“Hey, Yamaguchi, why are you always touching him like that?”

They were in the locker room, Yamaguchi already changed and ready to go and Kei tying his laces. It’d been a rough day for no particular reason, and his eyebrows were pinched against the migraine steadily building behind his eyes. His friend had absently rested his hand against the back of his neck, thumb digging into the bowstring-taut tendons to try and ease the pressure a little.

At the sudden words (navy blue, tinged a sickly lime green), Yamaguchi looks up, a puzzled look on his face. “Huh? I don’t-”

One of the other boys (a third year, musty grey like old, unwashed socks) interrupts him. “He’s right, you’re always touching Tsukishima. Are you...”

There’s an overly dramatic pause as the cluster of boys look between each other.

“... _gay_?”

The word is spat like an insult, like it tastes disgusting on his tongue, and the bottom of Kei’s stomach drops out. Yamaguchi snatches his hand away like he’s been burned, and there’s something stark and terrified in his eyes when Kei looks back at him.

“I get tension headaches,” Kei says, and his voice is enough to sufficiently snag all of their attention since he almost never speaks. “I asked for his help.”

Musty grey voice walks over, lazily, his lips pressed into a tight, mocking smile. What was his name again? Haru. “Are you just saying that protect your little _boyfriend_?”

He says that word with just as much disgust as he said “gay”, and Kei stands up, and for the first time, Haru looks a bit unsure. Kei is _much_ taller than him.

“I’m saying it because it’s the truth,” Kei says, the corner of his mouth twitching into the self-satisfied smirk he wore so often in elementary school. “Did I make it clear enough for your tiny little brain to understand? Or do I need to repeat myself again?”

The smile on the upperclassman’s mouth falls, and he shoves Kei back against the wall hard enough that his head smacks against the drywall. Yamaguchi squeaks, but Kei doesn’t so much as flinch. “Listen here, you disgusting...” his mouth fumbles, clearly unable to come up with a suitable insult for what he thinks Kei is. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“Or you’ll what? I haven’t done anything wrong. You’re the one who’s pushing people around.”

Haru shoves him again, and Kei just smirks. “I wonder what it’s like, to be so pathetic and bigoted. Get out of my way, or we’re going to be late.”

It looks like Haru is about to haul back and punch him until his glasses break, but almost as if summoned by the word “late”, the coach comes into the room, his eyebrows already furrowed, and he scowls at the sight that greets him.

“What’s going on here?”

The upperclassman lets go of the collar of Kei’s shirt, stepping away with a sneer. “Nothing, sir.”

Straightening his shirt, Kei simply doesn’t say anything. The coach’s attention falls to him, and his his expression tightens. “Tsukishima.”

“Nothing, sir.”

Yamaguchi, who he’d almost forgotten was there, looks pale and unhappy, his gaze darting between Kei and Haru with growing distress. Kei meets his eyes, and apparently the look there is enough to tell his friend to keep his mouth shut. The fact that no one is speaking up clearly displeases the coach, because he just sighs and shakes his head.

“Fine. But I’m calling both of your parents to let them know that this behavior is unacceptable, and if I catch either of you fighting again, you’re benched for the rest of the season.”

Kei doesn’t particularly care; he’s not a starter, and doesn’t even have a uniform. But the upperclassmen, Haru with his gross grey voice and his companions (who stand silently in the corner of the room) are all first or second string. They desperately don’t want to be benched.

The two boys nod stiffly, and the coach gives them one last withering look before retreating from the room. “Hurry it up, you’ve got two minutes to get on the court before I send you home.”

No one speaks or looks at one another as they finish getting changed, and Yamaguchi makes no move to touch Kei again.

True to his promise, coach called home to discuss his behavior, and his parents are _not_ happy with him.

“First all this nonsense with your brother, and now you’re getting into fights,” his father says, arms folded as he looks at his son sitting on the couch. “I raised you better than this.”

Kei doesn’t want to be here. He desperately wants to be anywhere but here. But his mother had texted him during practice, telling him to come straight home so they could have a word with him about what had happened. Apparently, his father was home early, which meant he was dealing with two unhappy parents instead of just his mother, who was standing a little bit behind her husband, wringing the hem of her apron as she watched with her sad eyes.

“Clearly you didn’t,” Kei says, looking at a spot on the wall somewhere just to the left of his father’s head. “If you’d raised me better, I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble. Right?”

His mother goes still as a statue, and his father’s face flushes an angry shade of red that he’s never seen before. “You will not speak to me that way.”

Swallowing is hard, but he manages, dipping his head to look at his shoes. It’s getting harder to keep himself from lashing out whenever he feels threatened, and it’s starting to carry over into his interactions with his parents. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice sounding a little tight.

It sounds like his father opened his mouth to say something, but he falls silent at the soft rustle of clothing. “Kei. What happened?”

When he looks up, his mother has rested her hand in the crook of his father’s arm, and her expression is so earnest he wants to spill his guts, let the angry, hurt bile fall from his lips until he’s empty. Because he’s so confused and upset, and once his protective, righteous anger had faded, all he’d felt was _sick_.

Was he gay? He liked when Yamaguchi touched him, even though they were both too old for their linked hands and bodies curled against each other in the night to be acceptable. Was it a _bad_ thing, like Haru and his friends had made it sound?

What if Yamaguchi hated him now? What if he stopped touching him, or letting him come over?

But he can’t say anything, he _can’t_ , so he just shakes his head mutely.

He felt dirty, and gross, his tongue leaden in his mouth. Standing abruptly, he hurries around his parents, making a beeline for the front door. Maybe his father would want to stop him, but it’s his mother who follows, her hands twisting her apron again.

“Kei, please don’t run off-”

“I need to go to Yamaguchi’s.”

Looking up from his shoes, he can see the same tell-tale glaze in her eyes that is in his own. Akiteru had teased him when he was little, saying that it was so easy to tell when he was about to cry, because it was the same with mom. They both got teary, dampness clinging to their lashes, and they rubbed at their eyes until the skin around them was angry and red, determined not to let the tears fall if they could help it.

“Text me when you get there, please.”

There’s almost no pink left in the clouds of washed-out smoke in her voice. He wants to hug her, to bury his face in her apron and breathe in the smell of her perfume mixed with spices. But he doesn’t know how anymore, so he just nods mutely, closing the door softly behind him instead of slamming it like he wants to.

The way to Yamaguchi’s is so ingrained in him, he can practically walk it blindfolded. Today, he runs, the cool air burning his lungs as his legs pump beneath him, sending him flying across asphalt and gravel and grass.

It’s Yamaguchi who answers the door to Kei panting on his doorstep, wind-tousled and sweaty. His friend looks like he’s been crying, and his hands hover unsurely in front of him, like he isn’t sure what to do with them.

Kei makes the decision easy, for once, pulling his friend into his arms, crushing him tight against his chest as he breathes in the smell of his hair, focuses on the soft feeling of it against his cheek and the way Yamaguchi is so, so warm.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so gross,” Yamaguchi starts to babble almost immediately, fingers gripping the back of Kei’s jacket tightly, tugging closer and pushing away in equal measures like he isn’t sure what to do. The leaves in his voice, the ones that should never be anything less than lush and green and beautiful, tremble and brown like they’re about to fall to the ground and rot.

It makes him want to throw up.

“I’m gross too, then,” Kei says, fiercely, and he can almost never muster that kind of emotion in his voice when he’s talking about himself, trying to confront his own issues and demons. But in the face of Yamaguchi’s body quaking in his arms, it’s easy.

“I di-didn’t think we were doing anything bad.”

“I don’t think we were either. I think he just...wanted an excuse to pick on us. We’re first years, they’re third years. My brother was the captain not too long ago, and maybe they’re worried I’m going to get special treatment. I don’t _know_.”

Yamaguchi laughs, and it sounds stuffy. “You really, really don’t want to be captain.”

“I’d probably jump off a building first,” Kei intones, and it makes his friend laugh again.

“So you’re not...mad at me?”

Heaving a sigh, Kei shakes his head. “I thought _you_ would be mad at _me_.”

As his friend looks up at him, there’s a look of such soft adoration on Yamaguchi’s face that it makes Kei breathless. “I could never be mad at you for something like that, Tsukki. You protected me. Again.”

“Stupid. Of course I did,” Kei grumbles, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi chimes, wiping his eyes with sleeves his shirt. “Maybe we should just...keep our physical distance, at school.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

And it becomes remarkably easier to do that in their second year, because for the first time since they met, Yamaguchi and he are in separate classes.

To make matters worse, Satoshi is in Yamaguchi’s class.

Kei hasn’t thought about Satoshi in years, not since he met Yamaguchi. But when he approaches his friend’s classroom during lunch, intending to ask if he wanted to eat outside together, he’s stopped in his tracks by the familiar flicker of flames, completely unchanged from that day when they were children.

It was hard enough to focus in class without the soft veneer of leaves to see through, and he has to try harder than he ever has to keep his grades up. Everything slips through his fingers like liquid, and he ends up befriending the class rep (in his awkward, stilted way) just so he can look at her notes between classes. She’s nice, with a pleasant lilac twinge to her tan voice, and while she’s dependable and friendly to her classmates, she’s not particularly social, preferring to read during lunch instead of gossip.

It appears that Satoshi is trying to befriend Yamaguchi similarly, and it makes Kei want to hurt something, or curl up in bed and never get out. Because how can he articulate that he knows this boy, and how badly he hurt him?

In the end, he doesn’t have to explain. He eats lunch with Yamaguchi every day, waiting outside the classroom for his friend to slip out and meet him. Sometimes he overhears snippets of conversation, and today, Satoshi seems to be quite insistent that Yamaguchi eat lunch with him.

“You always run off as soon as class lets out,” Satoshi says, and his voice is a little deeper (it must have already started to drop). “Where are you off to in such a hurry? You should eat with us for once!”

“My best friend is in 2-A, so we don’t see each other much except for lunch,” Yamaguchi explains, and Kei can hear the shuffling of books and papers. “Tsukki and I have always been in the same class, so it’s been weird this year only meeting for lunch.”

“Tsukki?” Satoshi repeats, and Kei’s blood goes cold. “What a weird name. Is it short for something?”

“Sorry, it is,” Yamaguchi laughs, sounding embarrassed. “Tsukishima.”

A beat of silence. “Tsukishima, as in, Tsukishima Kei?”

“Yeah! Do you know him?”

Another beat of silence, a bit longer. “Yeah, you could say that. I went to the same elementary school as him before my family moved. He was weird.”

“Eh?” Yamaguchi sounds a little affronted by this. “I don’t think he’s _weird_.”

“Has he done the color thing to you?”

Suddenly, Kei feels way closer to throwing up than he does towards anger. There’s silence again, on Yamaguchi’s part this time. “Color...thing?”

“Yeah, when we were little, he gave me this weird picture he drew, said it was-”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think this is something I want to hear from you.” Yamaguchi’s voice has taken on a familiar tone; it’s the one that Kei uses, the one that’s hard and cold and designed to shut people up and push them away. “If there’s something Tsukki wants me to know, he’ll tell me himself, when he’s ready. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for lunch.”

There’s the scrape of a chair, and before Kei can compose himself, Yamaguchi is slipping out of the room, his brow furrowed and his mouth twisted into an expression that is decidedly displeased. “Ah, Tsukki!” His whole countenance brightens, and the darkness in his voice flees in the face of the sun. How is it that someone like Kei is the only person who can reliably make his voice so _beautiful_? “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Not trusting his voice, Kei wordlessly shakes his head, which is apparently a good enough answer for his friend. Yamaguchi falls into step with him, letting Kei lead the way and staying just a bit behind him, to his right side. It’s a comfortable position, and he likes that Yamaguchi always walks on the same side of him, at the same distance; it’s familiar, when so much around them is changing.

As they make their way through the crowded halls, he reaches back, letting their fingers brush for just a scant moment. Yamaguchi smiles.

Their third year, they end up in the same class. Sometimes, Kei passes Satoshi in the hall, and they exchange looks like enemies who don’t want to chance an actual battle between them. The fire voiced boy is pleasant to Yamaguchi when they run into each other, but their friendship was nipped in the bud by their relationship (or lack thereof) with Kei.

It looks like his worries from graduation were completely justified. Kei is almost scarily effective at keeping people away.

Ayako, the class rep from his second year, is also in their class, and at the very least she and Yamaguchi get along famously. He likes the slide of lilac-tinged sand into the familiar greens, and even if it’s more of a casual friendship (they don’t eat lunch together, they don’t exchange phone numbers or hang out on the weekends), it’s nice to have her there, leaning against Yamaguchi’s desk and chattering about manga or sci-fi books with him. She gives them notes, and after an awful migraine-induced day where he embarasses himself in front of the class by not having a clue where they are in the lesson, she teams up with Yamaguchi to raise her hand and demand attention on afternoons when his eyebrows pinch and his vision swims with pain.

Club is...while not miserable, it’s not something he enjoys. Clearly he drives the coach crazy, and he tells him as much one afternoon when he pulls him aside.

“You have so much potential,” he says, dragging his fingers through his hair that has started going grey at the temple. “Your game sense is incredible, you have the height, so why don’t you try? What are you even doing here?”

Wordlessly, Kei looks over to where Yamaguchi is chattering with one of the first-string players, gesturing excitedly with his hands while the other third-year boy laughs.

It makes the coach heave a sigh. “Your brother was one of the best captains we’ve ever had here, and it kills me that you spend most of your time on the sidelines. When you can be assed to get on the court, you’re amazing.”

Kei grinds his teeth. “I don’t like putting in that much effort. It’s foolish to try that hard.”

Coach looks at him long and hard, and it’s like a lightbulb goes off over his head. “You know, what happened with Akiteru-”

“Is that all, sir?” His voice is sharp, his eyes hard, because this is not territory he’s interested in treading.

Disgusted with the whole conversation, the coach just waves him away, and Kei walks over to Yamaguchi at a half-jog, catching the ball when it’s tossed to him.

“Tsukki, Naoki is gonna set for us today! Let’s go!”

So he goes.

Entrance exams approach, and Ayako passes out surveys to the homeroom about what their goals are for high school and where they plan to apply. She smiles at him from behind her glasses, and he scowls back, making her and Yamaguchi giggle. Tapping at the sheet, he can feel his stomach free-falling through his body, through the floorboards all the way to the ground.

It’s quiet in the room, but Yamaguchi isn’t bent over his paper like everyone else. His gaze is on Kei, something wordless and intense in his eyes. It makes him remember their conversations from years ago, fuzzy and unfocused and mostly tinged with the color green. It makes him think of the callouses on Yamaguchi’s fingers when they rub against the inside of his wrist, and the way his entire body lights up when he gets subbed in to stand next to Kei on the court.

People think that it’s Yamaguchi who is at Kei’s mercy, but really, Kei is so wrapped around Yamaguchi’s fingers that he can’t see.

His shoulders slump as he heaves a sigh, and Yamaguchi is so happy that he appears incandescent.

In the empty space beneath the printed words: _High School: List choices from first priority to last_ , Kei writes a single school.

_Karasuno_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://princessofmind.tumblr.com/


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long time coming. I can sit here and list reasons and excuses all day, and truly there's been a _lot_ happening in my life, but I just sort of lost my drive for a while. But even when I wasn't updating, I've been getting so many kudos and lovely comments, and it really moved me and means a lot. Things have settled down again, and I hope to return to updating regularly. Thank you so, so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter. We're finally going to Karasuno!

The day his uniform arrives, Yamaguchi is over at his house, shuffling through papers and notes from the last three years to decide what to keep and what to throw away. The freckled boy doesn’t takes notes as well as Kei does, so all his stuff was tossed in the garbage as soon as they walked out of the graduation ceremony. Kei, on the other hand, takes surprisingly good notes; he has about four different colored pens that he uses to highlight his notes as he’s taking them and after the fact, making them quick to parse and an undeniably valuable asset.

One of his desk drawers is actually a small filing cabinet, and they’d stolen a few hanging folders from his father’s office to help with the organization. There’s something that niggles at the back of Kei’s mind over the fact that this property is now shared between them, like how the few manga that Kei has bought over the years lives unquestioned at Yamaguchi’s house, but he’s only fifteen and unsure of what to do with the feeling.

“I think we should keep these,” Yamaguchi murmurs without looking up, leafing through a notebook full of biology notes as Kei comes back into the room. “You’re not even an artist, Tsukki, how did you get these diagrams to look so nice?”

“It’s not art,” Kei sighs, going over to his nightstand and flicking a hair tie at the other boy. His hair is getting long, and it makes his eyes itch to see those bangs hanging in his face. “I’m just copying what I see in our books or what’s put on the board. It’s not hard.”

“Did you even _see_ my lab diagrams?” he says mournfully, taking the hair tie without question and using it to pull his bangs back.

It makes him smirk. “Yeah, it looks like a second grader scribbled all over your report.”

“ _Tsukki_!”

“This is why we’re keeping mine, not yours,” he says decisively, setting the box on his bed and tearing it open.

“Whatcha got?” Yamaguchi asks, twisting around in his chair to look at him.

Inside the box is a bundle of nondescript black fabric, and it makes his throat go tight almost immediately. When he’d been little, seeing Akiteru standing in the kitchen, gakuran fitting perfectly across his broad shoulders as their mother cooed and tugged it this way and that, he’d been so profoundly envious that he dreamed for weeks about being clad in that uniform, of being tall and strong like his brother, looking like a Karasuno crow clad in shadows.

Now it just makes him feel faintly nauseous. It’s stupid, and he hadn’t anticipated that just the uniform would be enough to make him want to run away and never look back. This anxiety that constantly hounds him, making his stomach tight and his blood roar in his ears, makes him feel so weak and pathetic he can’t stand it.

“Just my uniform,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as blindsided as he feels.

“You should go ahead and try it on,” Yamaguchi says, green eyes sharp as he looks at him, and Kei knows that he knows and is just thankful he doesn’t comment. “Your mom’ll make a big fuss if she catches you in it while you’re home.”

Grumbling unhappily under his breath, he trudges to the bathroom, pulling the uniform on briskly and without so much as looking in the mirror. The pants are a little short (how has he grown since they ordered it?) but the cuffs on the jacket fall to the exact right place, and he doesn’t feel too ridiculous as he goes back to his room, clearing his throat awkwardly to let his friend know he’s returned.

Yamaguchi looks up, and he takes a moment to just...look at him, gaze sweeping over his tall, lanky form as a soft blush rises to his cheeks. The pit of Kei’s stomach feels warm, under the queasy anxiety, and he’s just thankful that his bland face hides anything that he might be feeling.

“What?” he asks as Yamaguchi gets up, walking over to stand in front of him. “I look like him, don’t I.” The words are soft, and if his voice cracks in the middle, he’ll blame it on puberty.

His friend, who he used to tower over, is just a handful of inches shorter now. He hit his growth spurt in their third year, and now they stand almost nose to nose, and when the other smiles up at him, it makes his chest constrict almost painfully. Reaching out with careful hands, he smooths the material of his uniform, tugging the collar to sit properly against his long neck and adjusting the shoulders.

“You look like you,” he answers softly, eyes focused on the button in the middle of Kei’s chest. “You look _good_.”

Kei can feel the back of his neck burning. “I don’t think anyone looks good at our age,” he grumbles sullenly.

“You’ve always been an exception to that,” Yamaguchi says cheerfully, smoothing his hands down Kei’s upper arms before stepping back. “I’m never going to be able to see you through the crowds of girls chasing after you!”

Was it his imagination, or did the other look...almost mournful? There’s something decidedly sad about the set of his mouth, for all that he’s smiling.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi. Like I’m going to have time for girls.”

It’s not the truth, but it’s not a lie. For all that he doesn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it, he’s starting to understand what this means. He’s a mess, has been a mess consistently for the past four years, but he’s always understood the state of the mess; he knows why, and he can pick apart his own psychosis with a clinical detachment that’s a little frightening. And objectively, he knows what the warm tickle in his stomach is, what the blush that always burns the back of his neck and his ears means.

He knows, but he doesn’t want to say the word. He doesn’t want to think it. It would make things complicated, mess things up, and he can’t lose someone else. Not Yamaguchi, who has stood by his side through everything, who looked at him when he was at his worst and only held him tighter for it.

So he settles for the half-truth, hoping that the subtleties at least pacify his friend, and indeed it does. Yamaguchi smiles, brighter and realer, and says “sorry, Tsukki” just like always.

The uniform proves to be the hardest part of the whole process. He doesn’t feel that clench of anxiety in his stomach when they approach the school on the first day; he never went to any of Akiteru’s ceremonies or watched any of the practices. Karasuno itself is a mystery to him, something of a legend that he built up so much in his childhood that he realizes it will never stand up to his expectations. It’s somewhat of a relief to see that it’s only a school, just like any other, and not a monolith or castle of his dreams.

The ceremony is quick and painless, and he and Yamaguchi are in the same class, as usual. There’s only two class at Karasuno for the advanced students, so the odds of them being together were pretty good, and it looks like they’ve been dumped in based on the middle school they came from. It puts Kei, Yamaguchi, and Ayako (the class rep and their casual friend) in the same class once again. The familiarity is a tangible relief, and he’s starting to think that maybe this won’t be as bad as he was fearing. School is familiar, the work is easy, and it’s what he’s good at. He’s smart, and despite his surly attitude he always impresses his teachers.

But after school, Yamaguchi waits for him by the shoe locker, practically vibrating in excitement as he clutches his bag, that familiar tentative hope in his eyes.

Right.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says, clearly unhappy, but he agreed to this, didn’t he? It would make him a villain to back out now, so he plows ahead like a man on the way to the gallows.

In the front yard of the school, the crush of students and whirlwind of colors is staggering. It’s even worse than when they went to the castle; people are yelling, waving banners and holding signs. Some students are sitting at tables that have been set up, and everyone is milling around like it’s a festival. His head is already throbbing, and wave after wave of color assaults him until he has to close his eyes against it, pushing his glasses up as he rubs his face.

“Tsukki, are you okay?” Yamaguchi asks, and his green is just a flicker beneath the din; not enough to penetrate it for longer than a few seconds.

He grits his teeth. “Fine. Let’s just find the club and get out of here.”

It doesn’t take long. While lacking it’s prestige from the glory days, the Karasuno Volleyball Club still holds a certain amount of clout. They have a small table, and the boy with dove-grey hair sitting behind it isn’t shouting, thank god. He appears to be alone, but before long another boy joins him, sturdily built with broad shoulders and dark eyes.

“Good afternoon,” Yamaguchi greets cheerfully, moving around Kei to stand in front of him. Given the situation, he allows it.

“Hello!” the smaller of the two says, and Kei is taken aback. People’s voices usually don’t have any correlation with their appearance, but this boy’s color matches his hair almost exactly. It’s a beautiful shade of dove grey, light and soft like feathers, and Kei likes him instantly. “Are you interested in joining the Karasuno Volleyball Club?”

The other one is looking at Kei, eyebrows raised and clearly impressed. “You are _tall_ for a first year,” he says, voice rich like dark chocolate shot through with spicy, dark cayenne red. It seems like such an obvious statement, but Kei towers over both the boys. “Middle blocker?”

“Yes!” Yamaguchi answers for him, clearly thrilled. “I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi, and I’m a middle blocker too.”

“Tsukishima Kei.”

The dove-grey voice looks at him, and his brown eyes are piercing. It looks like he’s on the verge of recognition, like he’s heard that name somewhere before, but it fades quickly in the face of a cheerful smile. “I’m Sugawara Koushi, the vice-captain. I’m a setter. You can call me Suga.”

“Sawamura Daichi, captain and wing spiker. We could use a couple good middle blockers.”

“I’m nothing special,” Yamaguchi laughs, waving his hands as if brushing away Daichi’s compliment. “But Tsukki is incredible! It helps that he’s so tall.”

“Is that so, Tsukki?” Suga asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“Please don’t,” the blond groans, making the two upperclassmen laugh.

“Well, we have plenty of room, so we’d be happy to have you,” Daichi says, leaning over Suga’s shoulder to shuffle through the papers on the table, eventually producing two forms. “Just fill these out, and you can start coming to practice tomorrow.”

Kei hasn’t spoken more than four words for this interaction, between the crush of people and his initial shyness. It doesn’t seem to phase the two upperclassmen, and for that he’s thankful. They have nice voices, good to look at, and Daichi’s is saturated enough that it should grab his attention effortlessly, making him a perfect captain (at least for Kei’s reasons). As a co-captain, Suga’s voice is much more subdued and calming, and as he fills out the club application form next to Yamaguchi, he can’t help but think that they make a good pair.

Suga and Yamaguchi chatter inanely between themselves as Yamaguchi fills in the form, and while he hovers nearby, Daichi doesn’t try to talk to him. He wonders if it’s because he’s intimidating to look at, or if the other has picked up on his very clear desire to be left alone.

“Amemaru has a very impressive team,” Daichi says eventually. “Did you start?”

“I did as a third year,” Kei says eventually, and doesn’t mention that he only did so because the coach didn’t give him a choice and Yamaguchi had looked like he would cry if he refused. “I wasn’t on the team my first year, and I was second string my second.”

“That’s still pretty impressive,” Suga pipes up. “I’m sure you’ll be an asset to our team. Both of our strongest middle blockers graduated this year, so we’re really hurting in that department. I think we’re a team entirely of wing spikers right now. I’m the only setter amongst all these brutes.”

Yamaguchi laughs as Daichi prods his co-captain’s shoulder with a comically overdone scowl. “Tsukki is sure to be an asset,” he says proudly, and Kei glares at him.

“We’re happy to have you,” Daichi and Suga say in unison as Yamaguchi and Kei hand over their forms.

“Please take care of us,” they intone in return.

Turning in the forms takes longer than Yamaguchi and Kei expected, and they have to go back to the classroom to fill out a few papers that are just for the advanced classes. It’s late when they head towards home, stopping at the corner store for drinks (green tea for Yamaguchi and an iced coffee for Kei) before taking the long way back through the park. It’s a nice evening, not too hot and not too cold, and they meander their way through the trees and elegantly manicured grass in silence. Kei needs to clear his head of all the noise, his ears still ringing with echoes from the front yard. Yamaguchi seems to understand, sipping on his drink and swinging his bag jovially as they walk together.

Of course, the silence is broken eventually by loud voice, and it makes Kei want to scream. It’s _late_ , shouldn’t these idiots know better by now? One of the voices is royal purple, a deep, rich color edged with navy and the other is so eye-searingly bright that he wants to find whoever it belongs to and rip their tongue out. It’s like concentrated sunlight, bright, all-encompassing white tinged with yellow and orange at the edges, like a starburst.

They find the culprits near the exit of the park, a volleyball abandoned on the ground not far from them as they argue. The royal purple voice appears to belong to a boy who looks arguably more sullen than even Kei, and the starburst white voice belongs to a hilariously short boy with a shock of orange hair.

Scooping up the ball, Kei approaches them. “Don’t you idiots have somewhere else to do this? It’s late, and you’re causing a ruckus.”

The royal voice looks affronted, but shorty starburst squawks like a bird when he has to crane his neck up to find Kei’s face. “Tall!” he exclaims, like it’s something he needs to announce in case people didn’t notice.

“How astute of you to notice,” he says tartly, taking in the all-too familiar uniforms with a sense of dread. “Don’t tell me you two are on the Karasuno Volleyball Team.”

Shorty puffs out his chest, and the royal one just continues to glare wordlessly. “That’s right!” he says proudly, but quickly deflates he quickly deflates. “Although it’s kind of a probation type thing right now...”

Yamaguchi snickers, and Kei sometimes wants to kiss him for how much his friend can match him in cutting remarks after all this time. “ _We’re_ already members,” the freckled boy says.

“We’re going to be members too,” the royal voice says, the purple color layering rather prettily with the night sky. “Don’t talk down to us like we’re not.”

“Since you’re practicing out here and not in the gym, I’m going to assume that it won’t be so easy for you,” Kei says, lips quirking up in a smirk.

“I think the captains already want to make Tsukki a starter. They were really impressed earlier,” Yamaguchi gloats, opts not to add more than that. After all, it would be wrong to over exaggerate what the upperclassmen said. They were impressed, and in sore need of a middle blocker with Kei’s skills, but to say anything more than that might come back to bite them.

“Just you wait,” the starburst voice says, and once again, Kei wishes he would just choke on his own tongue or _talk quieter_. “I’m going to be the next little giant, and then you’ll be sorry. Just...just being tall isn’t that special anyways!”

Kei can’t help but laugh, because it certainly sounds like shorty is compensating for something. “ _Well_ then,” he says, shifting his bag on his shoulder and putting his hand in his pockets, the other still holding the ball aloft. “You’ll just have to show me, won’t you?” Beating someone like this is almost too easy; it’s a level of mean that even he struggles with. But he’s not about to let someone talk to him like that, and maybe if he can crush shorty’s spirits, he’ll quiet the fuck down.

The starburst boy presses his lips together, eyebrows lowered in an impressive scowl, and before Kei can really register what’s going on, he’s leaping, higher than _anyone_ should be able to, grabbing the ball from Kei’s hand and holding it possessively to his chest. Both him and Yamaguchi are gaping, visibly, and is it his imagination or is the royal one smirking?

“We’ll show you,” shorty says, voice low and dangerous, and Kei can feel a shiver go up his spine even as he’s half blinded by his voice. Peaceful mood gone and headache returned, Kei just sneers at him and stalks away, Yamaguchi hot on his heels. The next little giant, huh?

Stupid. Doesn’t he know that dreams only exist to get crushed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://princessofmind.tumblr.com/


	9. Chapter 9

Throughout most of his life, Kei has gotten good at functioning with varying levels of dread tinging his everyday activities. When Akiteru was still living at home, after their falling out, his stomach constantly hurt when he was anywhere near their mutual dwelling, and as a result he spent most of his time at Yamaguchi’s house. If he absolutely had to be at home, the dread and anxiety in the pit of his stomach pushed him to be quiet and scarce, to walk soundlessly to the kitchen and back to his room, and for the most part it worked; he’d barely seen his brother before he moved out, and as far as Kei was concerned, that was an excellent thing.

But avoiding things at school was harder, much harder, because it wasn’t as if he could just not go to volleyball practice. All day, he thought of excuse after excuse, reasons not to show up, and all of them had to do with that obnoxious brat he met in the part last night. It’s pitiful that a complete stranger should have such an affect on him, but with his level of chromesthesia, he’s learned that there are just people he needs to stay away from. There’d been a girl in one of his middle school classes whose voice was such an eye-searing shade of blue and indigo that it practically blinded him when she spoke directly to him. Something about that shade just vibrated in his head wrong, and as a result, he was caustic to her to such a ridiculous degree that she despised him. It wasn’t something he took pleasure in or was proud of, but she _had_ to stay away from him.

Shorty starburst from the park was another case of that, with his bright white voice going off like a firecracker directly in front of Kei’s face. He didn’t even want to be on the volleyball team, where he would undoubtedly be subjected to this brat’s voice at insufferable levels, echoing off the walls of the gymnasium as he squawked like a bird. But he’d made a promise to Yamaguchi, and for all the disappointing things he’d done in his life, he’d never once broken a promise to him. Even if it hurt, even if it meant migraines every damn day until graduation, he’d grit his teeth and bare it. If nothing else, when it came to Yamaguchi Tadashi, he was a man of his word.

It seems his friend isn’t completely oblivious to the almost palpable levels of dread and displeasure, and Yamaguchi is oddly subdued as they make their way to the club room to get changed (after getting directions from Suga). “Are you okay?” he asks when they’re alone in the room, backs to each other as they change out of their uniforms into their practice clothes. “You look like you have a headache.”

Moments like this make Kei want to explain, because as far as Yamaguchi is aware, he just has chronic migraines, triggered by seemingly nothing and quite painful at times. But it’s -not- random, not most of the time anyways, and his headaches and migraines are always triggered by specific people and events, and more than anything he wants to tell him that the source of his displeasure and cranky mood isn’t the club itself (well, not entirely) but because of shorty starburst’s stupid bright voice eclipsing pretty much every and anything.

“I’m fine,” he answers tersely, pulling a sweatshirt on over his t-shirt. It’s been weirdly chilly lately, and he hates being cold. “Just…adjusting to everything.” That’s as close to the truth as he can get, and Yamaguchi nods sympathetically.

“Take a break if you need to, yeah?” Yamaguchi says, stashing his uniform and bag on one of the shelves. “I’m sure Suga and Daichi would understand, they’ve been really nice to us so far.”

“I don’t want to be some kind of weakling right off the bat.” The quick denial makes Yamaguchi’s brows pinch, and Kei reaches out to grasp the back of his neck and jostle him just a little, fingers soft against his warm, freckled skin. “I’ll be fine. It’s been a long time since I’ve been not fine.”

Episodes like the one at the castle are few and far between, to the point where the last time he became so overwhelmed that he had to hide in order to cry and try to get his wits back around him are just distant, fuzzy memories, hidden under layers of green leaves like Yamaguchi’s voice (of course they are, he’s the person who helped him through every single one of those incidents). They’ve figured out how to deal with it, together, two people working as if they were one unit, and maybe Kei should have realized much earlier what all this meant, but it’s not as if he had a point of reference or anyone telling him that this was even an option.

Yamaguchi smiles sunnily at the touch to the back of his neck, and he nods. “I know,” he says, reaching back to rest his hand atop of Kei’s. “I just don’t like seeing you in pain. So tell me if you need help, okay?”

“Yes, mom,” Kei answers, jostling him a little again which only serves to make him laugh and squirm to get free. Yamaguchi doesn’t go far, though, and is practically glued to his side, steps light, as they make their way to the gym.

Yeah. How was he supposed to know that liking boys was even an option?

Suga and Daichi are already in the gym, accompanied by a boy with a shaved head. His voice is….well, to be frank, it’s absolutely nonsense. Most people’s voices are complimentary colors, blurred together with soft lines like Suga’s dove feathers or Yamaguchi’s leaves. This boy, Tanaka, his voice is like a marbled paper, with navy and bright orange and teal and even pink swirled together. The colors don’t blend, but sit on top of each other like oil on water, and while it’s quite jarring, it’s also _fascinating_. At fifteen, he thought that he’d seen all the possible forms a person’s voice could take, but this has completely caught him by surprised, and he looks more than a little walleyed as the wing spiker introduces himself, and Yamaguchi just laughs at his stunned expression.

“Tsukki’s got a headache, so he’s a little out of it today,” he says in way of excusing his odd behavior. “It’s nice to meet you, though, Tanaka!”

“Sorry man, that’s rough. The first few days are the worst, right?” Tanaka’s voice is loud, but not in a yelling sort of way; it just demands attention, and while he seems to have an excess of energy, there’s something commanding in his tone that reminds Kei of Daichi.

There’s a couple of other members there, second-string players if their attitude is anything to go by, but one of them makes Kei’s brows furrow a bit. His expression is sleepy, almost disarmingly so, but his voice is strong brick red mixed with brown, making him think of adobe houses that he’d seen pictures of in history class. It’s a sturdy voice, a leader’s voice to rival Daichi’s, and he wonders what he’s doing on the bench. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he’s a second year, where Daichi and Suga are third years. Either way, Kei finds his voice tolerable, as he does with the other two boys who group around him.

And, of course, shorty starburst and his sullen friend make their appearance eventually, and they’re late. _Of course_. While the other members are warming up, these two come in like they already own the place, and it makes something rankle in Kei’s chest, and Yamaguchi’s hands which were pressing him towards the gym floor, helping him stretch, suddenly become much more gentle and comforting.

The boy with the midnight voice….Kei actually knows him. His name is Kageyama Tobio, and he’d seen the boy’s match when he and Yamaguchi were at Amemaru. While he didn’t particularly care about these things, he knew that he was called the King of the Court because of his selfish playing style. He was gifted, a prodigy, and he probably expected the team to bow to him and do whatever the hell he wants. Kei already hates him with a passion. Shorty starburst, he’s never seen heads nor tails of before last night, and he wonders how the boy is already attached to the king’s hip, although it’s clearly not out of friendship. They’re fighting at almost every opportunity, and the way they burst into the gym makes it seem like they were racing to the door like elementary school students.

The orange haired brat is called Hinata Shouyou, and his voice is just as horrific in the gym as Tsukishima had feared. It’s blinding, echoing off the walls as he yells and carries on, talking to the captains about something, and Kei takes a rare moment to press his hands to his ears, a grimace flicking over his features before he schools them back into placidity. Tanaka’s marbled voice, Suga’s soft and soothing dove grey, Yamaguchi’s familiar green leaves, they’re all obliterated by the light of the fucking _sun_.

This is a problem. More of a problem than he first thought.

But even half blind and with a migraine he can feel throbbing through his whole body, Kei can play. Volleyball is practically second nature to him, and when Daichi suggests a scrimmage between the first years to test their abilities, Kei just jumps, easily using his height to smack down all of their spikes, his expression unfrulled and unimpressed. Yeah, the shorty has a crazy jump, but Kei is tall, Kei has years and years of experience, and he won’t be so easily beat.

Rolling his head and absently rubbing at the back of his neck, Kei is just as unprepared as everyone else in the gym is for the quick that comes his way. He doesn’t have time to blink or even raise his hands; one second, he’s standing there, watching the ball going towards Kageyama, and the next, the ball is rushing past his head with an audible _whoosh_ and slapping down onto the hardwood, Yamaguchi standing stock still and silent behind him, not even having begun to dive to return the spike.

Holy _shit_.

Shorty and the king crow with victory while everyone else gapes, and Kei rips his glasses off to tug his sweatshirt off to deposit to the back of the gym. What kind of freak quick was that? How had he been so unprepared, that he hadn’t even been able to raise his hands, let alone jump? Like he’d told Suga and Daichi, he was a starter at Amemaru, he was a great middle blocker, and while their team hadn’t won the tournament, they’d gotten quite far, and Kei was respected for what he can do. He’s not his brother, of course he’s not, but he’s good, good enough to never have to try and risk being hurt by that effort blowing up in his face, but this?

This is unfair. What is he supposed to do against this weird dynamic of midnight navy and sunshine white, who can jump and spike and make him feel like he’s completely out of his element? It’s like taking everything he hates about people like this, loud and obnoxious and trying way too fucking hard, and rubbing his nose in it. Trying to articulate how much it grates on his nerves is like trying to explain how he can’t see his glasses when he wears them despite the frames being right in front of his eyes. They just represent every single thing he hates most in the world, and by the time practice ends, he’s about to climb the goddamn walls.

He never runs, but he jogs back to the changing room, thankful that the obnoxious duo elected to stay behind to practice more so that there’s no chance of running into them there. Changing quickly, in angry, yanking motions, he jams his headphones over his ears, selecting the first playlist he can find on his MP3 player (it’s one that Yamaguchi made for him, composed of string quartet covers of popular pop music) and cranking the music up so loud he can’t even hear his own thoughts. This whole time, he doesn’t even check to see if Yamaguchi is behind him; it’s like a sixth sense at this point, because he knows that his friend jogged behind him, hurried through his own changing so he could follow him out, probably slightly out of breath but there, his bag under his arm and his eyes full of concern.

They walk, in tandem without even having to look, and it isn’t until they reach the park that they usually pass through that Kei slows, no longer walking like something might be chasing him, and it’s near that damned clearing where they first ran into the king and the shorty that Yamaguchi gently grasps his elbow, tugging him to a stop. When he turns to face his friend, his expression is pinched, annoyance and pain warring for dominance on his featres, and Yamaguchi looks so soft, so sweetly concerned. He doesn’t try to talk to him or take his headphones off; it’s getting dark, so the park is deserted, and Kei has no reason to resist the calloused hands that cup the back of his head and tug him close, close enough that he can rest his forehead against Yamaguchi’s shoulder.

Those rough fingers tug his gakuran collar out of the way, pressing and rubbing carefully, trying to soothe the muscles and tendons in his neck that must feel so tense as to be near snapping. Kei can’t hear anything over the music, but there’s a pause between songs, not long enough to make his headache worse, but enough that he can hear that his friend is speaking to him even though he must know that he can’t hear him.

“-was really impressed with your blocking form, Daichi was saying-“

“-cool, even though you didn’t practice at all this summer! You always look so-“

“-sorry your head hurts, Tsukki, if I could have these stupid headaches instead of you, you know I would-“

“-for you, you know? I’ll do anything for you, Tsukki-“

Slowly, his breathing starts to even, his chest loosening as some of the tension bleeds out of his muscles, his head no longer feeling like it’s being supported by rigid sticks instead of flexible muscle, and when he opens his eyes, the world no longer swims with pain. Turning the music down just a little, he still can’t make out the actual words, but a beautiful, comforting green haze mixes with the music, and it’s so beautiful, so soothing, that a sigh escapes him even as his cheeks start to burn red.

Yamaguchi’s fingers aren’t so much massaging his neck now as they are petting, soothing, and making his stomach do funny things. The idiots at school, the frustrating practice, seems so far away from this moment that’s just the two of them, just soft music and green leaves and the scent of laundry detergent and lavender soap clinging to the jacket under Kei’s cheek.

He wonders…..does Yamaguchi know too, that liking boys is an option?


End file.
